


I want this touch to be familiar

by Ominous



Series: progress comes in small steps [5]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Anal Sex, Andrew POV, Canon Compliant, Communication, Consent, Dry Humping, Established Relationship, First Time, Fluff, I Had To, IM A SAP, Introspection, M/M, References to Canon Abuse, Relationship Study, andreil being in love bc that's my brand, andrew growth, i want andrew to be happy, lots of spice idk man, neil is the best bf, porn with lots of feelings basically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-02-23 05:23:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23072989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ominous/pseuds/Ominous
Summary: Deep down, Andrew knew he would always reach this crossroads, a time where the thought became too strong to ignore.Going all the way with Neil. It's not something he can continue to avoid thinking about. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil's hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he's forced to acknowledge how much he's allowed.Not allowed. Welcomed. Wanted.But that’s not all there is to it, and the desire to make a decision finally makes itself known.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard, side katelyn/aaron
Series: progress comes in small steps [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593232
Comments: 439
Kudos: 1604





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm back, and it's time for monster fic! I originally was going to wait until I had finished the whole thing but...it truly is yolo year so enjoy my chaotic self. I have parts 1 and 2 done of this and have started part 3, and I'm just so excited to start sharing this with all of you! thanks for all the support so far, your comments mean everything and help motivate me so much, I hope you enjoy this!
> 
> I wanted to give andreil their own fic dealing with some relationship/personal growth on each side, but in the grand scheme the series does still focus on the twins. Aaron and katelyn are going to be getting their own giant fic too it's already planned *sweats* (and yes they will bang it just wont be the plot, its what katelyn DESERVES) but this idea I had to do first bc it wouldn't leave me alone! 
> 
> I wanna thank [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for betaing this for me and convincing me not to get so in my head about it <3
> 
> this fic means a lot to me so thanks for giving it a chance!

They're having a movie night when the idea sinks its hooks into Andrew's brain. He’s not blaming the Foxes, but their bad taste in films is the catalyst to a milestone Andrew didn’t think he’d have to deal with so soon.

In a swift motion, he brings the hand that's not on Neil's thigh to itch at the back of his own skull, unsettled. He almost thinks he should ban himself from these get togethers, if only to avoid these ideas from taking root. Though, if he's being more honest with himself for once, he'll admit it's not the first time it crossed his mind.

It's possible that's the problem entirely.

No, this idea is more comparable to a mosquito, swarming around in his head and beating against the grooves at random points in the day. It's so powerful, so persistent, it's like this one mosquito is a whole swarm, poking around the ridges in an indecisive process to figure out where it finally wants to dig in.

The movie night is just the point in which it finally latches on and doesn't let go.

It's a predictable action film; Andrew doesn't understand why every director in Hollywood keeps trying to recreate James Bond, but he stopped caring about the movie two minutes in. Neil is boneless and relaxed from the shower they shared after practice, fingers drumming beats against Andrew's wrists while his brow furrows at the film. It has enough explosions and suspense to keep Neil somewhat entertained, though Andrew suspects the focus is mostly due to Neil trying to pick apart the inaccuracies of it all.

Most of the time, Neil ends up staring at Andrew for a majority of the film. Andrew finds it easier to not mind in the darkness, where he can feel the brightness in Neil's eyes instead of actually seeing it.

Essentially, this is the only reason he comes to movie nights.

He's almost at the point where he's ready to ignore the thing completely, along with the Foxes’ scathing commentary, but then the scene comes on.

It's not hard to see coming, but as crude and rough as the Foxes are, their movies don't often include sex scenes. Andrew isn't usually bothered by this type of thing, but it does nothing for him. He's neither repulsed or intrigued; the man isn't his type (or Neil, his brain says, unhelpfully), and the scene isn't aggressive enough to feel like assault.

No anger or heat surges under his skin as the slow orchestra plays, the woman's dress falling to the floor in what he's sure is supposed to be a good shot but has been so overdone it's pointless. Suddenly there's skin, and chests, and the actress' loud gasps turn into louder moans.

It's obnoxious, how fake it sounds, the camera angle cutting to show just enough in between movements.

" _Ughhh_ ," Nicky groans, and Allison turns to give him a look. Nicky sags in his chair even further just to spite her, almost falling out of it. "Why do they always do this? I don't need to see two straight white people suck face and bone in every movie! What is this doing for the _plot_?"

Aaron's head perks up, and he pauses his mid mouthful of those stupid chips Katelyn got him. "What's wrong with straight white people?"

"Everything."

Matt raises his third beer of the night. "Cheers bro, I'll drink to that."

Aaron looks to the wall, as if it will offer him anything better than his current company.

Andrew's eyes fly back to the television, right at the moment the hero slots himself between the actress' legs.

The swarm in his head digs in.

Andrew's hand tightens in the couch cushion, but he keeps the one on Neil's thigh steady so he won't notice. Neil can be so perceptive when he wants to be, when it comes to Andrew specifically. It's infuriating, sometimes. Andrew never asked to be known so well, yet here they are.

Neil cracks a smile at Nicky and Aaron's fighting, more fond of it now than anything, and Andrew tracks the curve of it with his eyes. On screen, the spy starts thrusting.

"It's romantic!" Allison counters Nicky's claims, and he chucks a pillow at her with a surprising amount of force. Some of the feathers float out.

"They met not even a _day_ ago!"

Aaron's chips are forgotten, which is about as serious as his brother gets nowadays. "I think you've hooked up with dudes you've met within an _hour_ , you asshole."

"This ain't about _me_."

It's at this point Neil decides to speak, his brow arching in a way Andrew is pretty sure he didn't do prior to starting their _this_. Andrew's eyes fly up to catch it, and he realizes he'd been admiring the slope of Neil's neck, the discoloration where his hair meets his nape. "Honestly Nicky, what right do you have to talk about plot? Didn't you make us watch that terrible beach movie last week just because you liked the actor?"

Off to the side, where they're trying to become siamese twins, Dan and Matt chime in with some 'ooo's and air horn noises. They’re loud enough to startle Kevin from whatever he’s texting Thea about, and Allison’s cackle follows. Renee’s smile has a slight sharpness to it, the evillest she can look nowadays.

Andrew can't be bothered by the antics; his focus keeps returning to the movie, and the fact is nearly enough to startle him. But he stays still, calm, and doesn't give anything away. It's the best defense he has for the war about to rage inside him. His mind, two seconds from overdrive.

"Et tu Neil?" Nicky sniffs, and then the actress has some kind of orgasm, since she makes a noise akin to a dying bird.

And, because when is it _ever_ about the love interest, the man keeps going, chasing his own release. Andrew's throat feels scratchy.

Andrew spares a look at Neil's face, and finds the striker's attention divided between the screen and Nicky's ramblings. Andrew doesn't care about whatever Neil says in return, he's too set on the slide of Neil's tongue over his bottom lip, the heat of his skin under his palm. Andrew moves his hand more towards Neil's inner thigh, and his breath hitches when Neil's legs widen on instinct for him.

The idiot isn't even aware of it.

Andrew would only need to slide his hand deeper to graze the place where he and Neil could be connected, as close as they can get. He'd be able to work Neil open, savor the twitch of Neil's hips.

Neil is mouthy enough in bed with how they do things now. Would he be louder? Uncontained?

Andrew allows himself to watch the rest of the scene play out on screen, the two rehearsed 'rough' thrusts, the groan of pleasure. But this time, it's hard to be disinterested. It's hard to not let his mind, so gifted with spinning fantasies on account of his cursed memory, put him in the spy's place.

What would Neil feel like, he wonders. Tight and warm probably, strong legs locking around Andrew's hips until his ankles are crossed and knocking against his lower back. Neil can get so greedy sometimes, even with his obnoxiously high consideration for Andrew's boundaries. When he's allowed to take, he's desperate about it.

Would Neil let him go that far? No, would he _want_ to?

Does _he_ want--

Andrew stops the train of thought there, but doesn't cut the journey short. He has no choice but to be stuck here now, and thus, Andrew can no longer swat the idea away like the pest it is.

Going all the way with Neil. It's not something he could avoid thinking about after a certain point. When Andrew looks back to the days where he held Neil's hands down, when he never got off with him in the same room, he's forced to acknowledge how much he's allowed.

Not allowed. Welcomed. _Wanted_.

Bile rises in his throat on instinct, and he squashes it down. Sex with Neil is not something he needs to feel terrible about, and he doesn't. It feels the opposite of terrible, and Andrew hasn't worked through all those troublesome thoughts yet. He can't pin a label to it.

He remembers when jerking off in the shower, mouth pressed to Neil's, had felt like a huge thing to give. Now it wouldn't be enough.

Neil touches him now, Andrew _asks_ him to touch. He's used to Neil's weight on top of him and his hands sliding suggestively over his abs, his biceps. His hands are used to resting comfortably over the curve of Neil's ass, grinding against him.

And it hasn’t stopped there. He's had Neil's mouth on him, his blue eyes on _every_ part of him as the striker sucked him off after a particularly good game.

Andrew had shut down the goal, and the look in Neil's eyes had made him feel far too much. Overwhelming, dizzying.

So they'd taken the next step, not without hiccups, not without caution, but they'd done it.

And that's the thing with Neil; once they cross a certain line, it's a snowball effect. They're incapable of going back.

Neil blew him then for the first time and suddenly Andrew couldn't get the image out of his head, Neil's lips around his cock, trying to adjust to get the best reactions out of Andrew, to make it feel good.

Neil, so stupidly determined about everything he does.

And Andrew, the fool he is, got used to it. He never expected it, because routine was not a yes, and some days he preferred to not be touched at all.

But now, when Neil sinks to his knees or asks to jerk Andrew off, the initial anxiety Andrew might've felt months prior isn't there. It's been burned away into something more concerning, addictive.

Because Neil will stop if he needs him to.

So, Andrew let go, and the floodgates opened.

Shared handjobs turned into frequent blowjobs, which turned into heavy petting without clothes. Andrew feels stripped down, raw, with how much trust he's given this single person.

Every now and again, he searches deep in his soul for some ounce of disgust, regret for any of it, and it makes him angry to find none.

The only thing that does make him angry is how good it feels, a natural reaction Andrew can’t just drop cold turkey. Yet, his body doesn't just enjoy the progressions he and Neil have made together, so does his mind.

Again, he derails the train there, not willing to admit it, and returns to the thought of plowing Neil into their mattress.

It was only a matter of time before he ended up at this crossroads, only so far he and Neil could go before reaching the logical 'next step.'

But, it doesn't have to be a step at all if Neil decides against it. If Neil doesn't want to, they won't. The itch in Andrew's brain is mostly due to the fact they haven't discussed it. He has no idea how Neil feels, if he even thinks about it in the way Andrew does.

There hasn't been time, but Andrew knows if he's reached this point he has to bring it up.

He's not afraid to; he and Neil aren't like that. It's about framing it in a way Neil's exy-only brain won't read into it wrong.

He needs Neil to be able to say no if that's what he needs, he doesn't want to imply _he_ wants this from Neil, that there's a pressure to take it there. Because as stubborn and rebellious as Neil can be, unwilling to be pushed around, Andrew is a weakness.

So, Andrew won't accept anything from him other than the absolute truth. 'Always' doesn't exist with things like this.

The movie turns back into a mindless explosion show while the fantasy in Andrew's brain is paused, mostly because indulging in it feels wrong at this point. If it's something that'll never happen, there's no point letting it play.

What he already does with Neil is enough, more than enough. Andrew never thought he'd ever be like this with anyone, and he's still not used to it. His pleasure during sex came from control in the past, on being able to dictate how it all went, to touch without being touched and have the person _like_ it.

Neil turns everything upside down; where control once stood undefeated, something else sits, unmovable. White-hot, blinding desire.

A danger, unacceptable.

Andrew's eyes rest back on Neil and the heat coiling in his abdomen subsides, softened by the unruliness of Neil's bangs and the glow against his cheek. That's another problem too, about Neil. Desire isn't alone.

But, Andrew sets that issue aside for now.

Feeling Andrew's pensiveness, Neil turns his head, blinking so slow Andrew can see the flutter of his lashes. He nearly pushes his face away.

He's not sure what Neil sees in his analysis; Andrew knows he can't read minds, but it's unsettling and calming all at once to watch him trace the wrinkles in Andrew's face. He asks himself if maybe Neil can feel the itch too.

Neil hooks his fingers over Andrew's lightly, and Andrew realizes all too late how tight his grip on Neil's thigh had gotten.

"Okay?" Neil asks, and fuck him for doing so, for catching Andrew slip. He curses himself for slipping at all, or maybe the better term is falling.

Andrew taps Neil's hand once, twice, three times, and squashes the urge to kiss him.

"Yes," he says, and it's not a lie.

It's not a lie, and he doesn't have the energy to think about why that is. He just knows that soon, it will become a bigger problem. He puts it to rest.

Instead, he watches Neil nod and smile, and when Andrew finally turns back to the television, his brain gets to work on the words he needs to say, and knowing how they’ll probably come up short.

\--

Andrew's mind is a vault mechanism. When one part of the lock is cracked, there's usually another waiting behind it.

He hasn't realized it yet though, couldn't possibly, with Neil rutting in his lap.

Andrew grunts as his nails dig into Neil's hips, where the brunet's sweatpants are dipping dangerously lower by the minute, a consequence of the force of their dry humping.

He's not quite sure how they got this carried away in the span of ten minutes, but all Andrew knew then was this wasn't a bad day, this was a day where Neil could pin Andrew to the couch without consequence.

So he let him.

Neil is shirtless, scars on display along with hard nipples and a twitching abdomen, the heat building and building.

Because of Andrew.

The position should feel stupid, immature, maybe even high school, but Andrew's brain is swimming with a pleasure comparable to nicotine.

It's nothing he thought he'd feel before, because the weight of someone on him never used to lead to good things.

" _Fuck_ ," Neil breathes, hips stuttering against Andrew's and wiping the dangerous path away before Andrew can even take a step towards it. Neil gives a rough jerk, barely able to fight Andrew's grip, but he prefers when Neil works for it. He doesn't let up, because he knows the striker is nothing but determined.

Neil whines, surging forward to pant into Andrew's mouth. He growls; part of him was enjoying the show and doesn't appreciate the interruption. The other part of him can't get enough of Neil's mouth, the wicked tongue pulling his out and sucking on it like it's another part of Andrew's body.

Neil is always so scatterbrained; he'd do it all if he could.

Andrew's breathing comes out heavy, wet, and they've fallen out of position quite a few times as a result of their desperation. Neil's clothed cock is barely grazing Andrew's now, but he doesn't have the will to stop Neil from moving so fast, so needy. There's a small wet spot forming against Andrew's pant leg, and he watches Neil fight to keep his head from lolling back from the dizziness of it.

It makes something smug burn through Andrew's chest, seeing Neil sigh and whisper incoherent nothings which don't amount to much more than 'yes' and 'more, Andrew, more.'

Andrew leans back into the couch cushions and bucks up, earning him a sound so _Neil_ he can't take it. It's a cross between a gasp and a groan, devolving into another string of curses. At this point, Neil's pants are low enough to reveal the coarse hair of his groin, the criss crossing scars almost as tantalizing as the hardness pressing against Andrew's leg.

Andrew suddenly doesn't have enough hands. He's torn between pressing his palm over the scars, keeping Neil under his grip, or digging into Neil's hair to expose the column of his throat.

This is why this kind of thing can still get a bit overwhelming, but not in a discomforting way like it used to.

It's still fairly new, the dry humping. At first, it had started as slow and experimental grinding in the morning, Neil pressed up against Andrew's front while he rocked forward. The first time, Andrew had to stop, too taken by the newness of it, the unfamiliarity.

He hadn't had time to really pick it apart and think about why he was doing it or if it made him anything like _them_. If pressing Neil down and chasing his own relief didn't reveal something uglier about him.

By that point, he'd had Neil's hands on him on a regular basis, jerking him off and pulling him into his throat. Those things were becoming less daunting.

He's used to letting Neil get him off now, to getting off in front of him with his own hand. It's just...this is so much more shared, intense. Andrew isn't quite used to it, but the movie night sits heavy in the back of his head still, and he thinks it might make a little more sense now.

The process to get here had been the same, a slow evolution; they'd use grinding as a means to get worked up, to cause friction before moving onto blow jobs or heavy makeouts. It turned into a _thing_ when Andrew didn't have the patience to separate from Neil for even a moment. Humiliating, but in the heat of the moment he hadn't thought twice. He remembered asking for his yes between biting kisses before humping Neil into their bed, and when he came, the rush had been blinding. The heat running through his veins carried all through his spine and down to his toes, intensified even more by Neil's body jerking against his.

Close, intimate.

And so very, very close to the real thing.

Before that thought threatens to ruin everything, Andrew bucks up again and Neil's moan blocks the path again.

Andrew is so hard it's painful.

Before Neil can press down in kind, Andrew tightens his hold until Neil can do little more than squirm, leaving them stuck like that, with Neil's hands making a mess of Andrew's hair and unable to give them the sweet friction. Andrew rubs circles into Neil's hip bones until he hears the sigh he's looking for.

Watching Neil blink, eyes blown wide in a desire fueled haze, makes Andrew lick his lips in anticipation.

Neil blinks down at Andrew, not really seeing, breath stuttering as he fights the grip. "H-hey--"

"Hey," Andrew replies, feigning innocence. It's not effective, when one of his hands snakes around to Neil's back, looking for any trace of discomfort or even a silent 'no.' When he finds nothing but _want_ , he presses his fingers down onto Neil's lower back to force him forward. Neil's back arches like a cat, like Andrew pulls all the strings. "Move up."

Neil exhales shakily as he shifts, legs spreading and putting him back to where they initially started. Andrew takes the time to rid himself of his jacket, way too warm, and unzips his jeans to help the tightness.

Neil's gaze flies to the prominent bulge under Andrew's boxers instantly.

"Right there," Andrew says with his hands back on Neil's ass, squeezing the muscled flesh greedily and trying hard to avoid the thought of spreading him open like this. He aligns Neil so their cocks are settled against each other again. It's a struggle for them to stay still; Neil leans forward so Andrew's neck muffles most of his groan, and sucks on his pale skin. Andrew's voice is nothing short of strained when it comes out. "That's it."

Neil smiles when he pulls back, and Andrew has to look away. Idiot, always so pleased with proof of Andrew's unraveling. "Can I--"

" _Yes_ ," Andrew growls, and he meets Neil halfway. One hand flies to the back of Neil's neck, digging into the hair at his nape to pull him close again. His skin is scorching to the touch.

Neil doesn't hesitate. His hips move fast as his hands dig into Andrew's biceps, intent on chasing the orgasm for both of them. Small, jagged whimpers leave his mouth with every thrust, his cock brushing right against Andrew's. Neil is practically bouncing, and it doesn't take long for Andrew to realize he's moving too, just as fast, just as rough. The head of his cock pokes out of the slit in his underwear, smearing precum on Neil's pants.

"Oh fuck, _fuck,"_ Neil moans at the same time Andrew starts grunting with each jerk of his body, unconcerned with the volume. If anyone knows what's good for them, they won't be back early. Andrew's vision starts to blur, his movements less coordinated, breathing loud. He's close, so close and the heat pooling in his abdomen makes his head swim.

It should unnerve him, this lack of control, this animalistic urge to keep going, take and _take_. But Neil looks the farthest from afraid above him; he's matching Andrew in his entirety, grunting loudly and rotating his hips in _just_ the right way for them to feel every inch of each other. His hands are dutifully clutching Andrew's shoulders, unwilling to move. Because Neil knows, he knows this is Andrew's most vulnerable moment, seconds from orgasm. No matter how close to the edge they are, Neil won't risk Andrew's discomfort, he won't let Andrew's pleasure be overridden by shock or the disregard for his boundaries.

Andrew hates him, he hates how Neil is the only one who will ever make him feel this way, because now no one else is good enough.

In more ways than sex.

Andrew snarls from the anger of it all, from how inaccurate it feels to call it that. He brings a hand up to wipe the sweat off Neil's brow, pushing aside his bangs so he can see those eyes for all they are, the ring of blue a bottomless pool Andrew no longer tries to escape.

Neil's mouth falls open from whatever look is on Andrew's face, and he's no longer able to keep his eyes open, throwing his head back as his orgasm rips through him. He trembles in Andrew's arms, and Andrew feels the warmth of Neil's cum against his cock, even through his sweats.

Andrew's arms lock around Neil's waist as he thrusts up harshly, and in the last split second before he comes, he imagines they're not just dry humping like dogs in heat. He allows himself to imagine he's inside Neil, that they're as close as they can possibly be, and it makes Neil feel _good_ instead of pained.

Andrew comes, but it's with an unexpected dose of shame. Despite that, he comes _hard_. It's full body, enough to make his shoulders shake, his breath hitch. It's that same tingling sensation running over him, stronger at the points where he and Neil touch.

It doesn't make sense to him.

He hadn't meant to let his brain go there, to let the fantasy rear its ugly head again, but it had felt so...

He didn't have the right to think about it without Neil's yes, not in this case. Because it means some fucked up part of him craves it, needs to take it.

He won't, he won't do that. He knows he won't, but then why does it make his stomach swirl?

Andrew sighs before going rigid, and Neil must take it as his cue to separate. That's one thing which hasn't really changed, Andrew's need for space. It's gotten better, he can normally stay pressed against Neil for ten or so minutes, and it's weirdly comfortable. However, eventually his brain will begin to overthink or itch with a need for room, and he'll have to push away.

This immediate stiffness is unusual though, and Neil catches it so fast Andrew should feel vulnerable about it.

Neil goes still as soon as he senses something is off, and removes his weight from Andrew in a blink. He's never seen Neil move so fast away from him, not out of fear, but concern.

Neil is mistaken here though; he's not the one who's done something wrong.

Neil puts as much distance between them on the couch as he can, bringing his knees to his chest and only grimacing at the wet squelch of his pants.

His chest is still heaving, and part of Andrew finds excitement in that. He made Neil feel good, it's proven by his mussed up hair and swollen lips, the high blush. Neil waits, eyes scanning the lines of tension in Andrew's body, the soft parts of his face.

Andrew watches him for a long time as he thinks, trying to find evidence he's right, that he took it too far. Neil can't read his thoughts, but for a moment Andrew worries he can.

Did he feel it, Andrew's body claiming him, using him in a way Neil maybe has never thought of?

Andrew glares, but he knows Neil will be able to tell it's not at him.

Andrew is usually able to begin the long dissection of these issues in his own head, revealing the threads he can offer to Bee to pull at and untangle into something more manageable. But right now, he's at a loss.

They sit like that so long their breathing evens out, and only at that point does Neil reach out. He extends his hand forward, not commanding, but offering. Yes or no. "Andrew?"

 _Shit_.

He hasn't moved in minutes. Time is never something he managed well in his head, always pulling him back to the past in a blink while the future pulled apart like dust, disintegrating before taking a full shape. He inhales shakily; Andrew hates to show so much, but this is Neil. They're alone. He scrubs a hand over his face in frustration, trying to bring it back to its blank state before he reaches out to pull Neil closer.

They're still not touching anywhere else, Andrew can't handle that yet, but it's enough of an acquiescence for Neil to understand the problem isn't him.

He moves to the cushion next to Andrew, his bare feet settling against the carpet as he waits for Andrew to say something.

And well, this is where he brings it up. There's no point in waiting, beating around the bush is useless and pointless and not something they're capable of doing.

Andrew's words come out blunt as ever as he stares into nothingness. "Before I came I thought about fucking you."

The harshness of the words, and how removed they are from any emotion should probably make any normal person flinch. Neil isn't just anyone.

Neil, for all his usual drama, doesn't react to that, and Andrew feels the ghost of relief. Once, Neil told Andrew his lack of reaction to otherwise terrible events made Neil feel better about them. Andrew hadn't really understood, but now he just might be seeing the logic.

Neil's gaze on him during their vulnerable moments typically makes Andrew want to jump out of his skin, far too exposed, but with this it's less difficult to plow forward. Neil stares at Andrew, as blank as he can manage, while still letting the curiosity furrow his brow.

Andrew wants to wipe off the sweat there.

He cracks his knuckles, mulling over the words and trying to find a way to say them where he won't have to admit too much. Unfortunately, it's impossible.

He scowls at the coffee table as he speaks, like the words are vile. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately. I haven't been able to stop."

Why can't he stop?

Because part of him can't help himself, is that it? He can't control himself, even after years and years of limiting every possible stimuli so he _could_.

If he sounds angry it's because he is; how dare Neil push him this far, so unintentionally. Yet even then, Andrew knows the blame is all on him. The irritated tremble in his voice should not fucking be there, just like the thoughts shouldn't be. He shouldn't have given ground enough to make such a confession, to make Neil think he's torn up and ugly.

Andrew should be a blank slate, but Neil is chips in the stone, splashes of paint which Andrew cannot scrub off.

He told Neil what he's always told Neil: the honest version of how he feels, even if he wishes he felt nothing.

Long before the movie night, long before he cares to remember, and he remembers _everything,_ he's thought of slotting their bodies together, of pulling Neil impossibly close so they're intertwined in every way.

At Andrew's aggravated scowl, Neil finally chooses to speak. The confusion is more obvious on his features now, the ring of blue reappearing and threatening to wash Andrew in waves.

"You don't have to stop," Neil says, like it's the simplest damn thing in the world.

What the hell does he know? He's not in Andrew's head, he's not--

"Neil--" Andrew almost growls, a warning Neil should be all too familiar with. _Stop while you're ahead._

Neil is a very bad listener, with a short fuse to match.

"I think about it," the striker bites out quickly, almost challenging. Those blue eyes widen with the admission, rocking on the balls of his feet. Andrew's entire body freezes up, hell the world might have stopped for all he cares. Even Neil bites down on his bottom lip, as if to cut the words off, before realizing how stupid that would be. He knows how Andrew feels about regret, and he's not lying in this moment. Andrew would be able to tell. A few seconds of quiet pass, they hear some muffled music through the windows. Neil's voice is a silky whisper to his ears, despite how cracked it sounds. "I think about it too. So... _there_ , stop putting this just on you. I think about it a lot so, you don't have to do... _that_."

It's so stupid, how Neil can remain so interesting even when Andrew's feeling this on edge. It's a welcome distraction for a second, before the words really sink in.

Neil thinks about it.

Viciously, Andrew steps on the small slug which resembles hope as it crawls through his brain. He ignores the mess in his pants as he turns to face Neil, sitting cross-legged on the couch.

Andrew raises a brow, daring Neil to elaborate on the _that_ he's referring to.

"Hide it so I don't have to know," Neil supplies, waving his hand in the air. "Shoulder it all yourself like you always do. This way I've made it both of our problem."

Neil winces, no doubt scolding himself for the poor choice of words.

Andrew's face is back to a blank slate. "A problem, is it?"

That's certainly how he saw it, but having Neil echo the sentiment makes him _feel_ more, which would be terrible enough, but the feeling isn't even good.

Neil's gaze is a freshly sharpened blade. " _No_. Not to me," Neil says, firm. "You know we don't have to, but--"

"But you think about it," Andrew echoes, unable to help it. The coils he tries to wrap around the realization are slippery and can't get a grip, so he repeats it. Neil thinks about it, the desire is shared.

What is he supposed to do with that information now? One step forward, two steps...somewhere.

Neil swallows, and the redness on his cheeks is oh so appealing to even Andrew's hazy mind.

Neil thinks about it.

But that doesn't mean they can just...do it. Andrew doesn't know if he can; the disconnect between what his body wants and what his brain can manage is a minefield and he's never wanted to scratch at gray matter so badly.

Briefly, he understands why Aaron values normalcy so much. Normalcy would allow Andrew to just be the horny college student he could've been, instead of having to deal with all these speed bumps and cones in the road to get to the ultimate goal. And even if he were to get there, there's a big chance he'd decide it's better to turn back around to prevent a crash.

But he is not Aaron, and he does not value normalcy.

He values--

"I do," Neil states, so _understanding,_ and maybe a little flustered. Flustered, not scared, not unsure. "I like doing that stuff with you Andrew, but how it is now is good, _more_ than good. Hell, that was so...wow. You know I've never felt this towards someone."

Neil's smile is so far away from what Andrew can handle he has to ruin it.

"Horny?" He says, and hates how even when he's deflecting the thought sends a shiver through him. The thought of Neil only wanting _him_ , only giving himself to _him_. Andrew squashes the possessiveness, uncomfortable.

Neil gives him a look for that, but isn't deterred. "Technically yes, but you know what I mean."

Unfortunately he does, but that's even more uncomfortable to think about than the physical desire. Neil has never been shy about his feelings for Andrew, not since Andrew actually acknowledged their _this_ and showed how he was going to make zero moves to push Neil away. Even if Neil _did_ hold back his bluntness, he gives Andrew those fucking _looks_ like he's the most amazing thing he's ever laid eyes on, not some delinquent with a crooked nose and a hostile disposition.

And still that can't be it. Neil's desire, like his feelings, are so intense they can't possibly be fake. The eagerness, the desperation with which he receives Andrew's advances...it's not the issue. Neil is trying to tell Andrew he doesn't need to feel pressured, like Andrew doesn't already know that.

He thinks he's getting closer to what his real problem is with it, but it's just out of reach. It's a shared desire, he checks that off. Neil thinks about it, another check. And Andrew...

No matter how he tries to kick it aside he wants it. His body craves it and his mind can't let it go. He wants and it's so nauseating in how it's _not_ , instead it's light and tender and all things he is not supposed to be.

So, where is the issue? It's him, it's--

"Stop avoiding the truth," Neil says, and when Andrew looks back at him those pale blue eyes are intense, almost deadly. They pry Andrew apart, flaying the flesh from bones and seeing the rawness inside, like Neil has managed to pin down the anxious animal inside him with talons sharp as knives.

The words 'shut up' die on his tongue; what truth? What can Neil see that he can't?

Andrew doesn't have fears. He briefly entertains the idea that what bothers him is the fact Neil _thinks_ about it and that means one day he'll really _want_ it and won't be able to hold the urge back. If Andrew can't give it to him, if he decides he can't go through with this, Neil will be like everyone else, just someone who wants more than Andrew can offer. Then he'll leave.

But Andrew doesn't fear. And it would be stupid to fear; anyone who would leave for something like that simply isn't worth the time of day. Yet...yet...

Andrew thinks of life without Neil, and he remembers emptiness crashing down, an empty stadium, and true darkness.

Frustrated beyond all reason, Andrew retreats into the bedroom to change into clean underwear and sweats. There are no footsteps behind him, no annoyed sighs or disappointment in his wake. He hates how Neil knows how long he needs before following, how trusting he is, because he changes right in front of Andrew a few moments later, needing no boundary.

"There's no 'truth' in this to avoid," Andrew answers, delayed, as he tracks the curves of Neil's body, the scars making him feel safe and angry all at once. Angry at those who would hurt his person, safe knowing Neil doesn't shy away from the ugliness.

Neil shrugs as he sits on the bed, beckoning Andrew over. He follows, of course he does, it's automatic.

What he says isn't a lie; he hasn't figured out the truth of this. Neil grins at him, infuriating. "No, I just think you're avoiding thinking about it. Don't get me wrong, I have no idea _what_ you're actually thinking about, I'm not a mind reader. But if something else weren't bothering you I don't think you'd be this antsy."

"I'm _not_ antsy."

"I told you, I'm the better liar so you should stop trying," Neil says with a smile, kicking his legs out in front of him. There's bruises on his knees from their last game. Andrew reaches out to press his palm against them, frowning at the yellowish color; there was no helping the fall, but Andrew had still checked him out afterwards. Neil sighs into the touch, leans into it, and it hits Andrew that this level of vulnerability he's been given is not something he's ever asked for, but he couldn't let go of if he wanted to.

Can’t let himself betray.

"I haven't made up my mind," Andrew says, not like he has to. Neil is normally good at knowing when Andrew isn't ready to give his final answer, but something about this feels different. It makes Andrew say as much as he can. "I don't know yet if I can do it."

What he thought would be devastating to admit aloud feels more like one weight has been shed. Neil doesn't even react, apart from prying Andrew's hand off his knee to trace the veins on his wrist.

"That's okay," Neil whispers, and there's enough encouragement in the tone to make Andrew growl.

_"Shut up."_

Neil freezes, his fingers hovering over Andrew's knuckles, and has the audacity to squint at Andrew. The man always did have a death wish. "It _is_."

Andrew turns away, in what to others would read as a clear dismissal, the cold shoulder. Neil has never cared to accept those things.

"Andrew," Neil says, and it's with conviction this time. No gentleness. "I'm not going to... _leave_ if we never do it, I don't care about that, I just care about you. But if it is something you want, it's a yes--"

Fury spikes.

Andrew bites back the auto-response of 'I don't care if you leave' because it's a deflection he won't bring into this. He doesn't have time to keep that wall of his intact during a conversation like this. Neil will fight it and see through it and it'll waste their time.

But honestly, screw Neil for seeing through Andrew so easily. For pulling out fears that shouldn't be there and aren't, they _aren't_.

When Andrew turns his scowl on Neil, the striker doesn't so much as flinch. Andrew is here, giving away too much, showing too much, and Neil takes all of it.

"That doesn't have to be your final answer," Andrew stresses, voice tight, and this time Neil does have the decency to look surprised. Those pretty eyes soften with it, and Andrew sees the exact moment he puts something together which Andrew hasn't yet touched. "We don't have to. That goes both ways, I won't take that from you unless you're 100% sure so you better be and fuck you if you don't tell me the truth when the time comes. And it's not going to be you _letting_ me, or doing it for my sake, or some other half-assed reason. If you don't want to, we won't. "

_If I can't, I won't._

And the only reason he wouldn't be able to is if...

Andrew feels a stone settle in his stomach, and almost grins from how amazingly stupid this all is. Bee would be so proud, him getting to this point, on the cusp of figuring out what the hell is going on in his head.

All of a sudden Andrew is tired, too much energy pulled out of him, a war of emotions, all for him to come to the obvious conclusion.

It always comes back to Neil.

And Neil seems to have figured it out too; he stares at Andrew for a long time, scanning his face, giving him that _look_ , the one which burns Andrew from the inside. Warm.

**_"The next time one of them says you're soulless, I might have to fight them."_ **

All Andrew's words, and Neil manages to find the sliver of realness buried in it. For a moment, Andrew thinks Neil will let it go, for Andrew's sake. But, he should know better. They're no longer at that point, and Bee would call that progress, but Andrew doesn't know what to do with it yet.

All he knows is that if Neil thinks he can soothe any of Andrew's thoughts, he will, no matter how many times Andrew tells him he doesn't need it.

It's quiet, when Neil finally speaks. "You wouldn't hurt me," he whispers into the small space between them. Andrew hadn't realized they'd gotten so close, but there's his forearm, pressed right against Neil's. No wincing, no queasiness.

Andrew starts to turn away, and Neil risks blocking him with his hand. Andrew's vision is all blue, Neil's bangs such a mess he wants so badly to push them back again. "You wouldn't hurt me Andrew, if that's what you're worried about. You couldn't. I trust you. Of course I _want_ to, but it's not a deal breaker. Stop treating it like one."

Andrew doesn't move, it's amazing he can even look at Neil, but he can't stop. There's so much he could argue in return, lots to prove wrong. Neil doesn't know anything about this, he can't possibly get it, or know what he's really giving Andrew, or what he’ll want in the future.

 _Their_ future; another subject to flood Andrew's brain. Too much at once, too much.

And yet, Neil is a deadly weapon, except with Andrew the slicing wounds give way to blooms instead of blood.

Neil strikes. "If you decide it's a yes, and I come back and say no, would it be a deal breaker for _you_?"

Andrew twitches from the mere thought, which is as good as a full body jerk. Neil could say he never wanted to have sex again and Andrew wouldn't push, he'd stay. " _No_ ," he seethes, unable to keep it out of his voice. Neil goes right for the throat every time, making one of Andrew's arguments null.

As for the other...

"I want to," Neil says, and for once, he seems embarrassed. It's a rare thing on Neil, the worried lip, the giddiness. Like he's excited. It's not even about the sex, he's pretty sure Neil did this when Andrew first held his hand too. Andrew's stomach flips itself over in half, the bastard.

"You wouldn't be taking either," Neil says, and Andrew flinches internally. Hurting Neil...he could hurt Neil, he could-- "We'd be...sharing, like we always do. So you can stop beating yourself up over my decision, and think about yours."

In Neil speak: Do whatever you need to do to figure out what you need, I'll be waiting.

Andrew hates the assumptions, mostly because they're right. This is not something he can resolve with one conversation. The thought of somehow ruining this for Neil, for making his first time something horrible, is too much for him to unpack this quickly. Who knows how long it will take him to reach a decision, or what the decision will be.

Yet, Neil's here, telling him he doesn't care how long it takes, or where Andrew lands at the end of it. He'll be here, now and after.

What percent is Neil even at? The millions maybe. Andrew's blood boils before it comes down to a simmer, then fades completely. Andrew never asked to feel, but Neil is wearing him down everyday.

The thought repeats: Andrew doesn't know how to stop.

He clenches his fists, grabbing Neil's shoulder and forcing him down onto his side to lie next to him. Words won't work for him anymore, and he's not capable of touching or even kissing right now. But it's a concession, a thing he is learning to give without despising the weakness of it.

Neil gives a small yelp but goes with Andrew willingly, not resisting. His curls fan out on the comforter, one decorated with cats that Nicky gifted them. Andrew sighs; Neil has yet to make any sense to him, even when the entrance to the messy path ahead of him has cleared.

He'll need as much rest as possible to figure this out. It's too early to go to bed, but after all this Andrew needs sleep, and he hates how Neil being next to him has become the new normal.

"I fucking hate you," he says in the small margin of space between them, and closes his eyes before he can be blinded by Neil's idiotic smile. "Go to sleep junkie."

Andrew's memory feeds him Neil's smile anyways.

Neil sighs across from him, and Andrew immediately feels drowsy, like it's a spell over him. He falls into it, not resisting.

As the world fades in and out, the most important thoughts stay afloat, and he embeds them in his head. They're less like mosquitoes now, more like additional grooves.

Neil wants it, Neil is ready. There's no sense in Andrew dwelling on that issue further for now, so he bypasses the first lock of his mind. Of course, he was never so optimistic to think that was the only thing holding him back, and Neil pulled that out of him too.

The big issue, the one holding Andrew back. The striker's words flood his mind, blurred and echoed. _'You wouldn't hurt me.'_

But is that the truth? There's only one way to find out, and Andrew isn't sure if it's something he's willing to risk. Neil never was and never will be someone fragile, but that’s not the point. That’s not what Andrew means.

Just the realization he has the power to hurt Neil with this, the way Andrew was hurt…it makes him shy away from any attempt.

After all, he decided long ago he wouldn't risk losing Neil, not for anything, returning words said on rooftops. And yet…Neil makes him itch to prove those things wrong.

He's not sure yet where to go from here, but he pushes it aside to think about later. He has as much time as he needs. With the first lock conquered, the tension in his shoulders relaxes. Neil thinks about it, wants it. So can Andrew.

Just like that, Andrew finally concedes; he lets the idea of _want_ flood in.

This time, there's no guilt to be found. Neil, with all intentions, made sure of that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO ALL I'm sorry I didn't reply to anyone's comments on the first chapter, things have been hectic (I'm sure they have been for everyone!), and I hope everyone is safe and doing well! I'm really appreciative of all the support I got on chapter 1, this fic means so much to me I didn't know if anyone would really read it but just kjsdnf you're all so sweet and I can't believe people liked it so much! I'll try to be better at replying this time ; ;
> 
> Sorry this is a lot of Andrew thinking again but I hope the spice makes up for it, imma make y'all work for this smut so strap in 
> 
> Thanks so much to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for betaing this for me!

Andrew is a planner.

This is one thing he's not afraid to admit about himself; most events in his life have been unplanned, disastrous things which he can only try to wrangle in the moment they make themselves known. However, if he has the time and foresight, he's much more inclined to plot out every move, making sure there are no slip-ups. Minimal error.

Thinking about and minimizing the damage to himself is new, since beforehand he wouldn't bother to care. In this case, his own reactions are things he'll have to deal with in the moment, since his limit here is unknown. He's never done this with anyone.

For now, his sole focus becomes Neil.

Of course, he knows with something like this it's impossible to get it perfect. He's more experienced than Neil, despite the fact he's never been intimate with someone on his own terms; he knows how it works, knows what to expect and all the ways it can go wrong.

He knows it most likely will be uncomfortable the first time, but can he make the good outweigh that?

At the thought, Andrew grumbles to himself, shaking his head over his cup of coffee. It's been a few weeks since that initial conversation, and his head has been a balancing act of sexual tension and precaution. He's planning as if he's made up his mind, though it's the farthest thing from the truth.

But, necessary. He needs to treat this like it's real, or it'll never sink in.

And well, the sexual part of it feels _very_ real. His overactive mind has made sure to spin the fantasy at him almost daily, and he's been powerless against it. The thought of Neil splayed out in front of him is not something he'll ever be adverse to. Lately, Andrew's libido has spiked, doubling from what is normal. If Neil knows the reason, he hasn't chosen to comment on it, and just seems happy to satisfy Andrew in whatever way he can.

A curl of warmth unfurls in his chest, and he slides his gaze over to where Neil sits on the floor, legs kicked up as he runs through his calculus homework. The gym shorts he has on slip a little, revealing odd patterns of discoloration. Andrew can only assume they're burns.

He's real, so painfully real Andrew feels the need to shield him from a threat that's not even there. Neil isn't scared of him, Andrew isn't scared of Neil. For all their hostility, they fit.

They prepare for the worst, gentleness often escapes them, and they've never minded each other's harshness.

Even still...

Silently, he pours Neil a cup of coffee into the god awful fox mug Nicky made him at Color Me Mine, the eyes sagging and crossed, and sets it beside him on the floor.

Neil’s head tilts up just enough to smile sleepily at him, and Andrew's insides twist painfully. Harshly, he pushes Neil's head down, back to his homework, and tries not to let the soft laugh cloud his thoughts anymore.

For all his severity, none of which Andrew is ashamed of, he finds himself itching to give Neil the opposite. And he does, when he thinks about it. Andrew tries his best not to roll his eyes; Neil ends up being right at the most annoying times.

Andrew wouldn't mean to hurt him, it's true. Andrew would never willingly hurt Neil these days, he simply doesn't have the capability. But intention is seldom enough for him. He'll do this right; it's the reason he's set up a plan in the first place.

Yet, plans are hard to keep together. Steps should be easy to follow, checked off.

  1. Talk to Bee
  2. Talk to Roland
  3. Do his own research



Simple, direct; that's what Andrew thought when he put the plan into action. Bee would be able to reveal the things Andrew could not yet see, pick his brain until the maze had a map. Roland would have experience with this, he'd be able to tell Andrew what it's like when it's consensual, the do's and don'ts. From then on, Andrew should've been able to piece the puzzle together and fill in the gaps with cold, hard information. There's only so much he can do to prepare, but he'll cover all his bases.

The plan was _supposed_ to do all that, but hiccups forever plagued Andrew's life. Bee's words were weights, necessary, still sitting with him even now. And Roland, well, that had _almost_ gone well.

At the memory, Andrew glares. The night before, he'd gone to talk with Roland alone, no stress or obligation to keep an eye on his family while he tried to sort this out. He told Neil, wrapped around him in bed, because it's not something he felt ashamed sharing. The reasoning was another story.

And Neil, stupid, understanding Neil, hadn't even questioned it, blindly trusting Andrew to tell him later. It would be agonizing, but Andrew would do it.

Keeping things from Neil nowadays is almost like an allergy, irritating.

It should've been uneventful. At most, he expected Roland to be obnoxious about it, which he was...

"Ohoho, it's about time _indeed_ ," the bartender crowed above the loud music of the club, spilled alcohol sticking to Andrew's boot soles. He grit his teeth. Andrew tried his best not to give too much away when he asked Roland to follow him to the backrooms, but Roland's shocked face when he brought it up forced Andrew’s hand.

It wasn't like that, it wouldn't ever be like that again and Roland knew it, was probably worried something had happened with Neil to make Andrew seek out something physical.

So naturally, Andrew told him the gist of his situation, his intentions to go all the way with Neil, and Roland had run away with it in triumph. The bartender's smirk made Andrew want to turn around and walk right out of there immediately. As if sensing Andrew's need to retreat, Roland leaned closer into his personal space, never a fast learner.

Andrew doesn't know what he ever saw in him.

"Shut up and let's go," Andrew growled in the small space between them, and Roland laughed at his expense without care. Andrew had to remind himself Roland was his only direct resource, unless he wanted to ask Nicky, which he would never do.

Whatever, Andrew would _not_ have this conversation in public.

"Alright, alright lover boy," Roland sighed, raising his hands with a wink. Andrew employed Neil's tactic for a moment, counting to ten in German. "I'm just happy for you. C'mon."

Andrew didn't bother to respond to that.

The relief that took root in Andrew's chest was short lived, so short lived he didn't even have to shove it down himself. He pushed off the counter to follow Roland through the throngs of drunk college students, the itch in his head gearing towards the information he was about to be given, when he saw her.

The one and only, Ms. _I doodle my last name as Minyard in my notebooks_ \--Katelyn.

Andrew froze; and saw the exact moment she knew she'd been caught. She was midstep, legs locked in an awkward position, but she didn't seem to be aware. It would've been satisfying, seeing Aaron's cheerleader so thrown off if it weren't for the look on her face. Andrew could see the assumptions swimming there before the idiot was probably even aware of them, her eyes, so close in color to Neil's but not the same _at all,_ glancing between him and Roland.

For a brief moment, cruelty sparked in Andrew's veins at being read in such a way; it was foreign, this particular anger. He never cared before what people thought of him, least of all Aaron's perfect girlfriend. Andrew knew people thought he was a monster, it never mattered, because Neil didn't.

Yet, the whole reason he was there at all was to avoid hurting Neil as much as possible, so the suspicion on Katelyn's face made him want to commit murder. He might've, but then the idiot rolled her ankle, preserving the progress he'd made with Aaron over the past year and a half.

He couldn't kill her, he couldn't leave her there either.

Aaron's words echoed in his skull; _'Our feelings are the same.'_

So inconvenient, so annoying, but so impossible to avoid.

Andrew remembers glancing back at Roland, knowing they wouldn't be having that talk after all, not right then. He remembers his skin crawling as he hauled Katelyn into his car, her words setting him on edge but reminding him that some people still had the capacity to surprise him.

The word 'love' tossed into the mix of mayhem.

Katelyn had put a lot of unnecessary thoughts in his head, but Andrew came back from that night clear headed, not necessarily about the sex situation, but about how he had been handling it.

Guess she isn't totally useless.

Speaking of...

"Good morning!" Katelyn sing-songs into the living area, and Neil flinches from the abruptness. The old instinct to run is hard to bury, and Andrew watches reality settle in as his muscles go slack again. Andrew misses the peace already, but he's the one who left the door open for Aaron in the first place.

Katelyn waves at Neil sheepishly for having spooked him, hopping along on her better ankle to lean against the small counter. Andrew rolls his eyes internally from how Aaron hovers, always there in case Katelyn decides to do another swan dive to the floor.

There's a pause then, one which isn't usually there. Katelyn's eyes land on Andrew and stay there, which in itself is odd. Up until this point, their understanding has been clear. Normally, Katelyn would ignore him, keep her distance. She still does, staying out of his immediate bubble. Yet, this time she offers him a genuine smile, and Andrew hopes last night hasn't given her any ideas about how things are going to be from now on. "Hi Andrew."

Ah, but looks like it has. Great.

Despite the twitch this realization causes, Andrew only hesitates momentarily before he offers her a nod, and ignores the way his brother blanches. Katelyn, thankfully, doesn't treat it as more than what it is, and carries on with whatever breakfast concoction she has in mind. A cook, she is not, and Andrew has no intention of eating it.

He feels Neil's smug smile in the corner of his eye, and dutifully ignores it in favor of watching his brother move seamlessly around his girlfriend. They touch purposefully, and often, like a dance with added steps just for the sake of staying close.

Aaron's arm slides against Katelyn's lower back, and she bites her lip, a blush rising to the tops of her ears. It's not subtle, but it's also not something anyone would bat an eye at.

Why Andrew can see the difference, he isn't sure, but it's there. There's a clinginess between them, more than usual, a product of Aaron's protectiveness and something _else_.

Looks like after Matt and Dan had fallen asleep, someone else in that dorm had decided to get handsy.

Andrew stuffs down his disgust at the thought; he seldom agrees with Nicky, but thinking of Aaron having any kind of sex is abhorrent, worse when it's straight.

His brother makes it seem so simple though, doesn't he?

He and his twin spent so many years being on the opposite ends of everything that their recent developments make Andrew even more painfully aware of how they're different. They're learning to share things in common without so much teeth pulling, but Andrew knows this is one area Aaron could not understand.

Andrew isn't jealous or resentful, he's just not like Aaron in that way. He's sure his brother and Katelyn had sex soon after meeting, long before it turned into something he'd risk Andrew's wrath over. He's also sure it's not something that keeps Aaron up at night, or wracks him with guilt afterwards. Watching them interact now, post intimacy, makes that clear enough. Aaron wants her and he's happy to want her, there's nothing else to it. Aaron's own insecurities are a monster, that much he knows, but they're not always in line with Andrew's.

Aaron is not afraid to want, and he trusts himself not to hurt.

This observation, coupled with his conversation with Katelyn, leaves Andrew with little room to avoid the real reason for his plan.

Realistically, Andrew knows he's been setting up roadblocks intentionally. Talk to Bee, setback, another setback, step two, back to step one, and so forth. With this process, there's essentially no way for this to not be dragged out to hell and back.

Annoyingly, he hears Renee's voice in his head, _"be patient with yourself,_ " but that's not it at all. The steps are more than just precautionary measures or even speedbumps. No, he can't try to convince himself that he put them there to pace himself, to make sure it's what he really _wants_.

_To want, to want, to want._

That's the thing. He knows what he wants, but part of him thought that with enough time, enough pause, he wouldn't anymore. Then, he could fall back on an old habit, push it away and pretend he doesn't care about the fallout.

He'd been giving his brain ample time to ruin this for him too. To remember that wanting is dangerous, disappointing, not worth the consideration or effort. That maybe, impossibly, if he gave himself room to fortify a new wall, he'd no longer crave Neil's _everything_. Then, hurting him wouldn't have to be a worry at all, because he simply wouldn't care.

But alas, he's caught himself at the end of his rope, and he should know better. He's known better since Baltimore. Because even now, his head buzzing with conflict, one fact stands out as sturdy as before.

He wants Neil. In every way, every part, all the ugly, spiked edges and harsh temper. Nothing has ever sounded better and he hates it. He hates to feel like this, but he won't try to stop.

Why?

 _"Andrew, what you feel is normal,"_ Bee's saccharine voice trickles through his head, words from the last two sessions when she helped him piece through all this. Or, maybe he should say she gave him the reins. Bee knows him by now, knows Andrew prefers to do most of the work once pointed in the right direction, even if it's something he hates to admit.

_What I feel is normal? Yes, yes, I know Bee._

Pleasure, joy, contentment. The lack of exposure to them all for so long means he doesn't know how to process them, according to Bee. In fact, the feelings become almost intolerable.

_"As such, your instinct is to lash out at or banish these feelings. They're uncomfortable, maybe even upsetting for you."_

He thinks of so many repeats of 'I hate you' and 'this is nothing.' Thing is, those weren't lies. He needed Neil to be nothing, even when he knew it was impossible. He'd crossed the line into dangerous territory again, and Neil had happily jogged over next to him.

Neil's the only one who's ever followed without question.

He means it though; he hates to want. He wonders if it's because it all feels too good to be true, that if he doesn't tell himself he hates it, he'll have to finally acknowledge how _good_ it feels.

How Neil makes him feel.

He can't accept that, not yet. But he will take a different step forward.

Katelyn prattles on about her schedule for the week, and Andrew can't hold her ramblings against her in this case. Labs and practice will keep her and Aaron apart for most of the week; Andrew used to crave the alone time, now...

With the sounds of pots and pans joining the chorus of Katelyn's chatter, Andrew walks over to Neil with intent clear. Funny, how he expected this revelation to be a lot less anticlimactic. But here they are, on a Sunday morning, the smell of burnt toast wafting through the air.

Neil looks up when Andrew sits beside him, catching whatever must be on Andrew's face and tilting his head. He's not sure how Neil does it, doesn't think to ask. Neil won't stop anyways if Andrew tells him too.

Because...

_"What you value is understanding."_

Yes, this is something Andrew will not be rid of anytime soon, Neil Josten will not go away. The little thrill which runs through him at the thought is not something he'd ever think he'd feel this much again. It intensifies as the days go, and everyday he loses more of the energy to stop it.

He can feel Bee smiling that damn smile, all the way from here.

Andrew digs his thumb into Neil's already open palm, waiting for his sleepy grin, and gets rid of all the roadblocks.

 _I want this_ , he repeats, and holds Neil's gaze. _I want you_.

He fights back the automatic recoil, and notes how it's gotten easier to do so, to overshadow his need to pull away with his need to pull closer.

"Yes," he says, and for a moment Neil is so still Andrew wonders if Katelyn's laughter ate up the small word. From how Neil's eyes soften a second later, he knows they weren't. "I don't know when, but it's a yes."

Because they've always gotten through things in the past, together.

Neil's breath hitches, and his hand curls tight around Andrew's, the touch conveying more than words can. The world is still such a dark, unforgiving place, but on this Sunday morning their dorm room has a brightness to it. Andrew shrinks away from it, but is powerless to avoid it.

Andrew thinks it might solely come from Neil, but he's wrong.

"Breakfast," Aaron calls to the room with a sigh, all too carefree and happy with Katelyn next to him. Andrew briefly wonders if Aaron ever thought he'd get to that point, and it's something they share. Disbelief.

"Okay," Neil calls back, and it has a dreamy quality to it Andrew wants so badly to stamp out like a cigarette. He doesn't though, he can't. The word carries the smile on the striker's lips, and Neil buries his face in Andrew's sleeve, content to let their food get a little cold.

Without Andrew noticing, his fingers curl just as tight around Neil's too.

\--

One thing Andrew cannot fathom about Neil sometimes is that there's no sense of pressure.

Andrew made up his mind about going all the way that very morning, over a week ago with Neil resting his head in his lap and eventually wriggling a little _too_ purposefully to be cute anymore. Andrew nearly snapped at Aaron and Katelyn to get lost, but then Neil would've won.

Considering how cheeky Neil looked later on, Andrew's cock in his mouth, maybe he did.

And in the afterglow, there had been...peace.

Andrew's not sure what he expected; maybe Neil's impatience, a new layer of tension in their kisses, their touches, something saying _go, go, go_. The rush to dive in and get things over with before the thoughts tore him in two.

But there's not. There's nothing like that; no urgency in his head or a ticking clock telling him they need to _do it_ before it's too late. Of course, he still thinks about it constantly, how could he not? He's only a man with an (admittedly) hot...boyfriend. A _Neil_. A very energetic and smart-mouthed Neil.

Closing his eyes, he can picture it, his memory a blessing for once with something from just the other day.

_Andrew lets his hands follow the curve of Neil's ass, feeling the smooth skin, patches of it rough from road burn and other scarring. He digs his fingers into the one spot of Neil's lower back, swallowing Neil's gasp. Like a press of a button, Neil's back bends for him._

_They're only making out, just kissing, and he's like this. Andrew is okay with just keeping things like **this** , it feels right._

_"Andrew..." Neil moans, featherlight, so unlike his usual brashness. It makes Andrew's pulse spike, and he kisses back greedily, mind swimming. Neil wants him, he makes Neil feel good..._

_Neil makes **him** feel good._

_"Quiet," Andrew scolds, muffled by the urgent press of Neil's lips. It's begrudgingly amusing, how stupid Neil is. He keeps going back in for another peck, one right after the other, provoking Andrew to just pin him and push his tongue into his mouth._

_"Mm," Neil hums teasingly, and Andrew feels the glide of his fingernail along the column of his neck. Andrew can't help it, he gives Neil a grunt for that, the sensitivity overwhelming._

_And Neil, so infuriating, smirks._

_"You first," his junkie bites back, so predictable. He punctuates the taunt with a nip to Andrew's earlobe. Then it's cloudy, no, **hazy** , a dream._

_Except Neil has proven time and time again he's the furthest thing from a dream; so **real** , so warm and solid. Andrew lets himself sink into the pleasure, and in these moments he doesn't realize he's falling, that he doesn't mind it._

_"Andrew..."_

Neil's voice is a fog Andrew has a hard time finding his way out of sometimes, and he leans his head back on the wall by his bed while the heat pools in his gut.

Oh yes, he thinks about this a lot, and he's too fixated on the feelings to put up a fight.

But it's not even just in these moments that he wants Neil, what once was so troubling is now simply reality...

He thinks of the redhead's sleep deprived yawns, long and drawn out enough to show the slope of his jaw. Anxious nibbling on the end of a pencil when he's focused on some stupid equation. Careful hands, patching up Andrew's bloody knuckles after sparring sessions. And _not_ so careful hands, punching the first reporter to say something even remotely negative about Andrew outside the stadium.

Neil is so dangerous, in that Andrew wants all of him.

Yet, there's never an imperativeness to _have_ all of him, to just lock them away for the weekend and see what all the fuss is about. No, he can savor different parts of Neil in innocent ways: the concerned touches, considerate glances, and wide grins...

And in filthy ways.

The slow stretch of his spine when he's doing warm ups, those yoga pants he wears on purpose around campus, the flick of a tongue against Andrew's biceps.

And still, neither of them feel the need to cross the line into new territory yet, not for lack of want, but for lack of good timing.

Point is, since the decision, he and Neil have done plenty of _other_ things without the underlying question of taking it all the way. It leaves Andrew's stomach buzzing for different, non-anxious reasons. The absence of pressure, of force. It's as if now that everything is out in the open, Neil's presence is both a relaxant and a stimulant, and nothing they do together is bogged down by anything other than chasing the pleasure it brings them.

Even with Roland, when they were ready to experiment further, there was no point in waiting. No pacing. Andrew was typically ready to get it out of his system for the sake of his libido, never pushing himself too far but also not patient with himself either. He'd propose the next thing he wanted to try, made sure Roland's hands were out of the way, and acted accordingly. Quickly. Andrew did not savor.

Andrew would take what he needed from the sensations and that was that; his knees on the floor of Eden's, a heavy weight on his tongue. Roland was enthusiastic, reacting well to Andrew's touches as he got more experienced with time.

As for Andrew...

Sometimes he'd like it, sometimes not, and in those cases he'd put a stop to it and he and Roland would revert to whatever was quickest to get off. Efficient, enough for Andrew to feel the spike of control, to bring another man pleasure without putting himself at risk. Exerting power over someone, and having them _like_ it.

It had all been controlled, because Andrew needed it to be. Many of those nights blur together now; he can remember them all, he does, but pulling those times to the forefront of his mind is not something he ever chose to do. It simply didn't affect him in that way, because Roland never got below Andrew's skin.

With Neil however…

Andrew can't help but imprint every gasp and arch into his brain to never be forgotten, to be spun into daydreams so vivid it's hard to keep still. In the mornings the thoughts drip into the front of his mind, Neil pressed close to him. Then when he's watching Neil run in the gym with strong legs, and it's like he feels Neil's legs tightening around him. When he's bored in class, the sounds of Neil's moans drown out the professor as the fantasies in Andrew's head take over.

With Neil it is pure, blinding _pleasure_. He savors more than he thinks he should, like there's a limited supply and he's going through an army's worth everyday.

Andrew prolongs sex with Neil as much as he can. He's never allowed himself to feel this with _anyone._ He couldn't. For once it's not just about gaining experience or getting off, it's all that _with_ Neil and exploring all the ways to make him fall apart.

So, Andrew still blows him in the showers after practice and ruts against him in the backseat of the Maserati. And through it all, Neil doesn't wait or expect Andrew to bring up going all the way.

He just _enjoys_ it, enjoys being with Andrew.

"I'm still convinced I dreamed you," he spits out later that night when they're making out on the floor. Making out is putting it innocently, since it's quickly progressing into Andrew grinding his hips into Neil's.

They haven't exactly had enough alone time for this, not for a few weeks, but Andrew tames his desperation for it as best he can. He can't be that vulnerable, and yet his hips are moving on their own accord.

With Kevin visiting Wymack and Nicky off studying, they're alone. They can take their time, and they don't hesitate to take advantage.

Andrew can no longer contain the caged animal.

Neil pauses briefly to look up at Andrew, sliding one of Andrew's hands under his shirt to touch him more. Andrew shivers at the silent request, thumbing at one his nipples while Neil tries to make words.

"D--Do you want me to be a hallucination?" Neil teases, and leans up to bite Andrew's bottom lip. Andrew pinches Neil's chest beneath his fingertips, logging away the breathy moan to recall later.

"No," Andrew snaps quickly, almost against his will, and Neil's grin is so annoyingly brilliant.

They both already knew the answer. He's not sure he could handle that at this point. Neil disappearing, like a ghost with only a compliment as a goodbye.

Not again.

As if to cement this fact, Andrew bucks forward, the friction dizzying. Again, it's been a little too long, and Andrew's movements betray it.

" _Fuck_ Andrew," Neil says, reaching for Andrew's fly. It's already undone, his belt somewhere halfway across the room due to Neil's eager hands. Andrew had told him yes, and yet Neil's hand hovers just over Andrew's groin in a silent question. Andrew growls, leading Neil's hand under the waistband until it brushes the wet head of his cock, and they moan in sync this time.

"Andrew I want... _fuck_ ," Neil throws his head back, the frustration clear. Andrew can't help but feel the same; if he could make Neil fall apart in every way he would, but for now his body craves the friction, the desperation of his movements.

This is how he wants to get off, humping Neil into the floor.

"Use your words," Andrew breathes, swiping his thumb over Neil's lips. Neil's pink tongue flicks out, coaxing Andrew's fingers into his mouth and _sucking_.

Neil's eyes are so full of mischief, his response clear: _sure about that?_

Andrew gives a slow roll of his hips as Neil pumps him slow, pulling away when he senses Andrew's patience running thin. The striker's legs spread farther apart for him, letting Andrew slot them perfectly together. Neil wants it like this too, he realizes.

A shudder runs through him, overwhelming and definitely something he'd normally lash out against. But this feels too good in the moment to resist, his clothed cock sliding perfectly against Neil's, and the thought comes barreling through as the heat coils tighter and tighter.

It's just like the last time they did this. Andrew starts thrusting faster, the phantom of the real thing while Neil's back slides against the floor. Except this time...

This time what?

He watches Neil meet each thrust just as desperately, a few whimpers escaping and mixing with the few Andrew can't help but let loose. He looks absolutely debauched, with his shorts hanging off one leg and his underwear damp. Andrew takes a snapshot, sealing this Neil away in his head forever. Hungry, insatiable, _junkie_.

What if this was the real thing? Would Neil arch and writhe even more? Neil always feels too good to be true, even now. He'd be warm, Andrew knows it, his ass hugging Andrew's cock, so bent on making Andrew feel good. He'd probably be more reactive too, loud enough for anyone nearby to hear. The fantasy floods in, and Andrew feels his heart rate pick up as his hips buck faster, the pace erratic and _wild_.

And that's the difference, isn't it? This time, Andrew doesn't feel strange to think about it, to imagine it. He's free to indulge, but should he, does he want to?

His cock twitches, and that's answer enough. The small ounce of hesitation is something Neil catches, because he throws Andrew a shaky smile as a bead of sweat drips down his forehead.

"You can think about it," Neil chokes out, voice raw and _oh_ , it's doing a lot of things to Andrew which shouldn't be allowed. "I am too. Fuck, I want you to fuck me Andrew, so bad..."

Andrew surges forward, slotting their lips together. It's hardly a kiss, his tongue pinning Neil's down in a promise he can't say.

_Me too, I want all of you._

The thought is so shocking, it doesn't make him recoil instantly. Something in him bends, snaps in two, and the only pause he gives is one used to manhandle Neil. He pulls him forward, so Neil is curled up at the perfect angle. Andrew does sometimes appreciate all the cheerleading stretches Neil borrows from Katelyn, he's so much more flexible now.

"Neil," Andrew breathes when he pulls back from Neil's lips, just his name. Neil's eyes widen, and Andrew wonders what kind of look he's wearing again. Can Neil see it all, how much Andrew really wants to rail Neil into the nearest surface?

It doesn't matter, his next movements make it obvious.

Andrew's hips piston forward until Neil is shaking apart, his orgasm pulling out a whine Andrew knows the neighbors can hear. He can't be bothered with it now, the unusual greediness he feels when it comes to Neil is second to his own rising pleasure. So close, _so close_ \--

Neil reaches up, boneless, and hums almost deliriously. Fixated, Andrew's eyes never leave the ring of blue in his eyes. Neil's fingers tap on Andrew's neck, right at the pulse. "C'mon, come for me."

Andrew does, it's obscene how fast he does. The words aren't even all the way out of Neil's mouth and Andrew doesn't have time to be upset with his orgasm coursing through him. His eyes close on their own accord, the feeling wiping out his sight for a few blissful seconds as he trembles. He's vaguely aware of Neil's hands on his muscles, feeling them clench with the aftershocks.

Andrew's stomach bottoms out, and he feels the rush all the way down his legs.

Never before, never this intense. Not with anyone but Neil.

He slumps forward, his body about as relaxed as it can be in Neil's arms. The urge to run after these moments isn't really there anymore, the need for separation either delayed or gone completely. It's the result of doing this...many times, and Neil's arms still rest loosely around Andrew, ready to let go the moment he needs it.

They lay like that for a few seconds, their pants echoing in the small space and Andrew licks the salt from Neil's neck. The striker has the nerve to give Andrew more space, welcoming all the marks. He doesn't even realize he'll be wearing sweaters for a few days in the blistering heat, if only to avoid Kevin's wrath.

Andrew pops off, satisfied with the fresh bruise, and savors the low whine he gets for it.

Eventually, he has to move, but less for the need to get cleaned up and more due to an odd feeling tugging at his abdomen. Neil's noises...they're troublesome for Andrew's self-control, and Andrew is sure Neil knows it.

The mess in Andrew's boxers is...a lot, and he grimaces as he shifts a little. He doesn't pull away completely, just to let Neil know he's alright, but he looks down at the striker with something swimming in his chest.

Neil's breathing is ragged, chest still heaving, and Andrew's eyes follow the trail of hickies he left on Neil's collarbone. The odd feeling hits him again, a simmering heat.

Unfinished.

Ah, so that's it. He gets it.

Andrew's eyes darken and he hears the moment Neil figures it out too. The redhead's throat clears, mixed with a moan as he sits up with Andrew. His eyes are still wide, pupils blown and covering icy blue in darkness. They're expectant, _excited_.

So, so much energy.

Andrew knows his smirk doesn't show on his actual face, but he has to fight real hard against it as he stands up. Neil licks his lips, tracking the movement as Andrew pulls the waistband of his boxers forward. He's a mess; his cock is slick with his own cum, globs of it sticking to the fabric. Without betraying his own emotions, he pulls himself out for Neil to see the state of him. In Andrew's head, the mantra repeats: _you do this to me, you make me feel this way._

Neil's eyes get that hazy quality to them, the intense focus usually applied to games, and Andrew quirks a brow. Neil's glances keep flitting between Andrew's face and his dripping cock, not sure where to look, but eager nonetheless. His mouth is already open, _ready_. The fire in Andrew's gut is no longer simmering, it's back in full force. Not yet satisfied, not done.

His cum is about to start dripping on the floor when he finally takes pity on them both.

"Hey," he says, almost innocently, and Neil freezes. "Clean up your mess."

And oh, Neil certainly does.

\--

Appropriately, Andrew is peckish after this, and Kevin had once again gone through the trouble of throwing away all his candy.

Honestly, Andrew could kill him at this point. Their deal is over, but then he'd have no reason to drag Neil out after 10 p.m. to try desserts Andrew knows he'll hate. His reactions make Andrew's chest feel fuzzy, and as uncomfortable as it is, he knows it's not a bad feeling or a particularly overwhelming one. Therefore, it's best to use for exposure therapy.

He's making Neil taste baklava at some 24-hour dessert bar when he says the words, unprompted and lazy, but it doesn't feel less right. For whatever reason, their moments of mundanity seem to coax the most monumental things out of Andrew, probably because they're the most grounded he ever feels.

Neil's hair is still a mess from their activities, that coupled with his scrunched up nose at the sweetness of the pastry is so routine, so familiar, it softens Andrew's edges. Andrew's fingertips are sticky from the syrup, but there's nothing filthy about watching Neil's lips wrap around them when Andrew feeds him the bite. It's so oddly cliche and cheesy, Andrew can't believe he did it without realizing.

Neil sticks out his tongue in disgust as he chews, pushing the rest of the pastry at Andrew in favor of his boring gummy bears (Andrew made him get _something_ ), when Andrew tilts his head to look at him. Really look.

He doesn't know what he's searching for, and he doesn't find it. It's a relief; Neil is the same, and it's such a comfort Andrew has to force it down.

His brain, always the betrayer, whispers: _This is it_.

It's not said in a romantic, or even joyful way. It's simply stating a fact; he won't have this again, and won't pursue it.

Neil's eyes soften when he catches Andrew staring, but doesn't call it out like he normally would. The striker rests his head on his arm, blue eyes shining under the shitty diner lights. They're back to normal, all ice, all color. His hand slides across the tabletop to brush Andrew's, not quite linking, but a constant. An 'I'm here' just because he feels like it.

The ease in Neil's eyes, brought on by all their exertion and from Andrew's presence, is so unlike the desire from earlier. It's apparent, but not jarring. This side of Neil is still one he knows, one he's come to expect without meaning to. There's something so innocent about it, so genuine, the words overflow.

"Neil," he says, even though he already has Neil's undivided attention. He wonders what kind of face he's making to get that kind of reaction, but then assures himself he doesn't want to know. He can't handle that yet. He clears away the tightness in his throat as best he can without acknowledging that it's there, and lets the realization wash over him. "Next time we're alone."

He's ready to try if Neil is. He knows Neil will understand what he's referring to. It's both a proposition and a promise, and Neil reads it easily.

He blinks, sitting up in that way which reminds Andrew of an actual fox. If Neil had the ears they would perk up, alert. His fingers inch forward, between the spaces Andrew has left for him already.

"You're ready?" Neil asks, voice quiet but resounding in the deserted shop. Andrew shivers, but knows the answer. He's known for a few days, but only now does he feel up to admitting it.

"Yes."

There's not much more he needs--or wants--to say. This is his decision; the mess in his mind is still there. The image of hurting Neil, or old memories surging forward in the heat of the moment. The shock of being so connected to someone, so vulnerable. It's all still there, making his skin crawl.

But then Neil looks at him like this, a mix of lust and some other emotion he won't name (won't assign Katelyn's stupid definition to) and it becomes a factor. Despite all the mess, Neil is someone he can trust and someone who trusts Andrew.

They want this, that's enough.

"Neil," he says when Neil has been quiet too long, that stupid look on his face, and watches him blush a brilliant shade of red.

"I--yes, yes of course I--" Neil stammers, and it's instinct for him to ground himself with Andrew's touch. His hand grips Andrew's tight, as if Andrew needs more convincing when Neil's tone is so excited. The striker's gaze turns firm, determined, and heat simmers in Andrew's chest once more. "I want that..."

_No kidding._

"Stop being an idiot," Andrew snaps, but he tightens his hold on Neil's hand anyways. He's not sure who he's talking to.

Judging by the smile Neil is trying to force down, he knows it too.

"You have a thing for idiots," he whispers with a smirk, teeth pressing into his bottom lip, and oh yes, Andrew always knew this man was far too dangerous to keep around.

Too late now.

"Apparently," he sighs, feigning resignation. He leans against the back of the booth, and it's mostly so he can see all of Neil clearly. The disheveled clothes, the unruly hair, the sharpness. In reality, he's far from cursing his future in that moment. He's not sure if he can label the static in his abdomen and his head as excitement, but he has a feeling it's exactly that.

Troublesome, and much too powerful to try and push away.

Satisfied, Neil smiles and leans back too. They don't stay separate for long; as soon as Neil's hand is off his, Andrew feels a strong leg press into his calf. He doesn't even flinch these days.

Neil poises to throw a gummy bear, and Andrew opens his mouth willingly to catch it, falling back into their easy routine of wasting time together. Long drives, stupid questions and stupider answers.

Andrew misses three out of the ten gummy bears, not really trying. It makes Neil laugh harder when he misses.

On the fifteenth throw, realization crosses over Neil's face, and he pauses. The smirk turns deadly, razor sharp. Andrew has never seen Neil so vengeful, and the excitement only grows when Neil speaks. "You know what this means?"

Andrew raises a brow, and Neil inhales, giddy with his own spite. "We can finally kick Kevin out."

And he automatically knows what Neil means. He recalls hours spent holed up in the stadium, making out with Neil and wishing they were cocooned in bed while Kevin sexiled them for time with Thea.

The word leaves Andrew's mouth, as deadly as Neil's expression. "Payback."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! All comments are very much appreciated, ilu all <3
> 
> Chapter 3 is all drafted and in the editing process so I should be back in a week! Also since I'm two weeks off from work I'm?? Hoping?? to have more stuff done haha


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've returned! Thanks so much to everyone who commented last chapter, it really made me smile ; ; I know times are still tough for a lot of people, but I hope everyone is doing ok! I'm going to try and continue to create stuff, in hopes it will alleviate some of the stress for y'all <3 not sure how much fanfic will help but I know it's done a lot to distract me!
> 
> Big thanks to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for reading this over for me! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

They do in fact, kick Kevin out.

To say it's extremely satisfying is an understatement, and Andrew doesn't try to deny himself the feeling. In this case, it's deserved, and a long time coming.

Kevin's not happy about it, especially since they offer him no further explanation. They've never asked for privacy so explicitly; Andrew never realized it before, how they’re used to accommodating everyone else, used to waiting until Kevin and the Foxes aren’t around to have their time to themselves.

Rushed, heated, timed.

This had been different. This time Andrew let himself be greedy. Nicky at least reads the mood well enough to make himself scarce. Andrew doesn’t care about the teasing; he’s adamant about his reasons, the need to carve out time to navigate this new experience. Not only that...but something possessive and antsy fuels him in the moment. This is just for him and Neil.

He won't risk a walk in and a hasty cover up.

All Andrew has to do is drop Thea's name and threaten to do Neil in the locker room for Kevin to finally get the damn hint and fuck off.

Dealing with Kevin is familiar territory, even post their deal. It's nicer, letting him fend for himself while not cutting the relationship loose entirely, but Andrew's concept of friendship is one he's still exploring and definitely not something he needs to think about right _now_.

Right now...right now is not familiar territory.

He walks back to the bedroom as Kevin mutters about having to leave, out of Andrew's mind before he's even out of sight.

He's distracted, so focused, lost.

There are glimpses of the familiarity he craves though, remembered through his own fingertips and his memory. The promise of soft lips and scars that follow the curve of a runner's body, hips pressed down and _warmth_. Neil.

Neil, who is ready and fresh from an extra long shower.

As soon as he crosses into the bedroom, the presence is electric, Andrew almost thinks the static will shoot from his fingertips. He doesn't know how Neil ever survived on the run, how he ever blended in. His _everything_ is loud. Before the slam of the front door even echoes through the dorm room, Andrew's eyes are on him. It would almost be amusing, seeing the little jump of Neil's shoulders at the intensity, if he wasn't so taken by the mere sight of him.

Of course he finds his gaze already returned by the striker, all fire and an almost beckoning quality.

Nicky would probably call the look 'fuck me eyes,' and for once Andrew is inclined to agree.

He intends to.

A shiver runs down his spine at the thought; he watches Neil bite his bottom lip, plush beneath his teeth, and Andrew licks his own from the muscle memory. He’s chased after those lips so many times…He wants to bite down, to claim them, as if he _has_ to. Neil only ever looks at him, and the fantasy already begins to cloud Andrew's mind.

He’s it for Neil, Andrew’s brain tells him then, stroking the flame. His first. Andrew pushes that thought away, too optimistic, too ideal, and fiercely territorial. The thought he’ll have Neil forever…it’s too much to bring into the equation.

Especially when Neil won't stop rubbing his fucking thighs together. 

The striker squirms in place on the bed, not subtle in the slightest as he checks Andrew out from head to toe. Neil lingers on the line of Andrew’s shoulders, swallowing a second after. Andrew revises; nothing about Neil is subtle these days, so he shouldn’t be this surprised. That smart, short-tempered mouth and looks which attract the whole crowd at Eden's.

And yet, Neil never gave a damn about anyone else.

Right then, the reminder cracks the walls around him.

Because they both think about this. They both _want_. Neil doesn't try to hide from _him_.

Nerves, excitement, and all the things Andrew cannot express are reflected back at him with how Neil leans back without thinking about it, stretching out.

When Andrew huffs the ghost of a laugh, his walls beginning to crumble, Neil's eyes brighten in interest.

This is ridiculous. It's so ridiculous, because Neil should be the farthest thing from sexy right then. He's in his armbands and one of Andrew's old ratty shirts, the one he's told Neil time and time again to throw away but to no avail. The loose threads and dulled color bring Andrew back to a time where Neil only wore old, thrifted clothes. Too big around the shoulders, neckline distorted, but Neil clings to it for comfort, not necessity. Not because he has nothing else or has to conserve his money.

' _It's yours,'_ had been Neil's only explanation.

And can Andrew talk, with the chain around his neck?

Neil's wearing those heinous cargo shorts Matt bought him, with only one sock on his foot. The fool would dress like this everyday, with no sense of matching or cohesiveness, if Andrew didn't pick his damn outfits.

There's nothing like what's in the movies; nice suits, tailored clothes, lingerie...

It's the farthest thing from a fantasy. But _this_ Neil, in all his mundanity, is nothing short of a wet dream to Andrew. The other end of a leash. The striker must notice the change, the darkening of Andrew's eyes, and the small whimper goes straight to Andrew's cock.

Oh yes, the only problem with Neil's clothes is the fact they're still _on_.

As he slams the door to the bedroom shut, it finally hits Andrew what they're about to try. Of course, they've talked about it, planned it, he's known for days. Regardless, the air around him feels like glass, making it hard to move but easy to break if he tries. This tension...it's terrible and exhilarating all at once.

Neil knows just how to push him to get him moving; he stops squirming long enough to spread his legs, leaving the perfect slot for Andrew to fit, and that's when the glass shatters.

There's a lot in his head as he stalks towards Neil, throwing off his jacket in the process. Roland's advice exchanged over texts, his own research, and countless conversations. And yet above it all is just Neil, Neil, _Neil_.

Andrew doesn't have time to linger on how he doesn't even hesitate to pull off his shirt, to be so exposed in front of someone without a second thought. His armbands stay; he’s not quite sure he can handle that along with what they’re about to do. Neil's sharp intake of breath at the sight of his abs, his biceps, is enough to override any of that.

Neil surges up to meet him.

Andrew's hands fly to Neil's shoulders as their lips meet, like a punch of desperation. Neil, as always pushes back against Andrew, as if to challenge him. Andrew is almost positive he does it on purpose, just so Andrew will show his strength. He pushes Neil back down onto the bed, and Neil’s excited gasp proves him right. The urge to corral all the limitless energy buzzing beneath Neil's skin is so strong Andrew doesn’t know what to do about it. He wants to expend it all, make Neil boneless and sated.

He growls and nips Neil's bottom lip, boxing him in without pressing down. Where to start? He wants to do it all.

 _'Don't rush into it,_ ' Roland's voice says, and Andrew fights the urge to kick it to the curb, to force it away with such viciousness it astounds him. He doesn't want to think about anything else, just this, just Neil moaning _yes_ for things Andrew hasn't asked yet. He just wants to _have_.

Neil's groan is way too filthy for just a kiss and is _not_ helping to make his self-control any easier. Andrew coaxes Neil's tongue out slowly in response, bringing their pace down if only slightly. Slow, patient. He knows the bartender was right, he can't rush this. He needs Neil to be relaxed, feeling good...

Andrew’s brain starts to fill with all the reminders, the advice.

His brain unhelpfully states that he should be feeling that way too, should be turned on, but rigidness begins to creep into his veins anyways. No, no. He can’t fixate on that. He forces it to the back of his mind, but he knows his body language betrays him. He keeps Neil's hands pinned to the mattress with one of his own, unable to handle the touch, and he holds the strikers jaw with the other. He forgot how this feels, the need to keep Neil restrained. It's been so long...

He licks into Neil's mouth to distract him, teasingly, like he's mapping it out. He can't deny it feels so warm, burning, the whine he rips from Neil's throat for his actions. The sloppiest of kisses, just because he can, just because it makes Neil's hips twitch.

_Yes, get worked up for me._

This is what needs to happen, but...

Next. Next, next--

The rustle of the condoms he laid out on the bed calls his attention, so does the new bottle next to them. Research...foreplay, slow, steady, now?

He gets lost in the kiss, but his actions lose their sense of purpose. Stalling. He pins Neil's tongue down, tries to draw out those delicious sounds so they drown out his erratic heartbeat, his thoughts.

"Andrew..."

The sound of Neil's voice is muffled, like it's underwater. Oh, this is definitely unfamiliar. Neil’s voice has never failed to be a lighthouse in the stormy bay.

He's not hard, he realizes. Andrew's not hard. Even with Neil nearly rutting against him, taken apart by just a kiss...he's...

The arousal surges only to be snuffed out by his own distraction each time, his own fixation on how he needs this to go down. Minimal damage.

But if it doesn't feel good...

It should, because it's Neil. With Neil, it's never supposed to be about a checklist.

It's just--

Andrew freezes when Neil's hands tremble beneath his, a weak, almost questioning attempt to pull free. He pulls back, staring down at Neil's eyes, already clouded and drowsy with how Andrew makes him feel.

Andrew pauses a moment, considering before he lets Neil free. Neil’s slow about it, sliding his hands out from under Andrew’s, feeling the calloused skin like it’s all he wants. Andrew lets him look his fill. The trust is no longer the issue.

And god, Neil is so damn nosy about everything. In how he tracks Andrew's face, searching again and finding...something. Neil turns his head into his shoulder, suppressing a grin.

Andrew nearly scowls. _What are you smiling about?_

If he's being honest, trying to get into Neil's head is one of the biggest challenges there is in his life, and it's self-created. He need only ask to receive, but Neil also doesn’t leave him waiting.

Neil's hands move purposefully, where Andrew can see and track them. They still just above Andrew's shoulders, and with a whispered ‘yes’ from Andrew’s lips, they slide down, rubbing tantalizing circles along his muscles.

He jolts from it, and Neil’s smile brightens.

Andrew’s one giant knot of tension; he hadn't even realized it, but then Neil starts undoing the chords. Andrew allows himself a slow exhale, and Neil swipes his tongue over the column of his throat. Andrew's cock twitches in interest for the first time, and Neil’s lips curve against his skin.

Someone with a penchant for starting fights should not have this calming effect.

One of Neil's hands comes to tangle in the silver chain around Andrew's neck, pulling him closer. _Tease_ , a menace even.

Andrew is completely entranced.

Neil nips the underside of his chin before pulling back, not breaking eye contact as he hooks two fingers into his own waistband. Andrew's breathing stops, and Neil strips off his shorts and underwear in one alluring movement. Neil's not a master at seduction, he simply knows what gets under Andrew's skin.

Those damn legs.

“Hm?” Neil hums as his knee lightly brushes against Andrew's groin, pausing to apply pressure, and oh...Neil should not be so good at this.

It leaves Andrew feeling a little conflicted; where did Neil learn this?

Once, while wiping Andrew's cum from the corner of his lips, Neil had simply said ' _My mind might not be the fastest learner, but the rest of me is.'_

This whole thing applies. If Neil senses Andrew's nerves, he seldom comments on it, but he never hesitates to start trying to help.

'Help' even when it's him being a shit.

"Come here." Neil's words are not a soft encouragement, nor are they a command. It's like it's a fact, a prophecy, like there isn't another direction Andrew can possibly go. Andrew glares at him, thinks about defying him just because, but the rigidness from before is almost gone. There's a tightness in his abdomen, a heat. Arousal, not wariness.

Also, Neil is _very_ naked from the waist down, and _very_ willing.

So Andrew lets himself be led back up, standing at the side of the bed while Neil gets comfortable, situating his face right in front of Andrew's fly. He tries not to let his interest show too much, but he guesses he fails when Neil smirks up at him. With practiced movements, Neil makes sure Andrew gives him a ‘yes’ before hastily undoing his belt and pants, the hunger in his eyes nearly too much. He pulls Andrew's half-hard cock out, shoving his pants down enough to bite at the V of Andrew's hips.

Andrew grunts at the feeling of Neil's breath against him, the striker’s hand wrapping firmly around his cock and _spitting_ on it to slick it up. Andrew's hand finds Neil's hair automatically, like he's used to doing when Neil goes to suck him off. Neil loves the encouragement, writhes from it.

When Neil hands him the bottle of lube, Andrew gets it.

The position, the request...

Andrew yanks at the underside of Neil's knee, spreading his legs and bringing him closer, the perfect angle for--

"Neil," Andrew warns as Neil starts to stroke him slow, paying way too close attention to how his cock begins to swell. Andrew's voice fills with the strain to keep down a groan.

Fast learner. Right.

With a hum, Neil guides Andrew's hand, the one holding the bottle, in between his thighs. The implication is clear, and Neil’s skin is still warm and flushed from when he probably cleaned himself.

Andrew digs his hand into Neil’s hair at the thought.

"We're sharing, remember?" Neil says, almost innocently, like he's not asking Andrew to finger him open for the first time while he drools all over his dick. Andrew won't mistake this for something else, he knows it's nothing short of consideration for him.

Andrew wants to snap that Neil doesn't need to do this, doesn't need to try and distract Andrew from the whirlwind in his head. He doesn't need _help_ , to get him out of his weird fog so he can actually get it up--

Neil swipes his tongue over the head of Andrew's cock and his breathing stutters, cutting off all thought for a blissful second.

"I want to do this how we always do it," Neil says then, eyes dangerous as he watches precum bead on the tip, evidence of Andrew's desire. There’s a seriousness locked underneath his tone. "I want you to feel good."

_How we always do it..._

He isn’t wrong; there's an edge to Neil's statement, a reinforcement. _This is still us_. No expectations, no pressure, only...

Andrew sets the bottle down so he can squeeze the flesh of Neil's thigh, soaking in the gasp he gets for it. He tugs Neil's head up to kiss him, deep and promising, before letting him get back to what he's good at. Using his mouth.

Andrew swallows, forcing down the unnecessary noise. He rids himself of the unessentials, the countless hours of research and text conversations with Roland, clinging to what he needs and not what overwhelms. He brings himself back to the basics therapy taught him. Breathing, grounding himself.

That's all he can do. He of all people, should've known there's no exact formula for this.

_It's still us._

_Us_.

And that...that is one of four truths. Another deep breath, and Andrew embraces their first attempt.

"Tell me if it hurts," Andrew says, _demands_ as he massages Neil's knee, watching his cock leak all over the bed. His hand glides up, grazing Neil's balls and teasing the sensitive skin.

Neil nods, so needy, and flicks his tongue out again over Andrew's shaft. Neil always does this, and it's so annoying because Andrew can't help but be so smug about it. Neil will stroke Andrew's cock leisurely for a few seconds, watching it grow until it's heavy and thick in his hand.

Trembling, Andrew uncaps the bottle and smears some lube on his fingers, letting some drip onto Neil's inner thighs just because. " _Junkie_."

Neil doesn't apologize for making him wait. "I like watching," he says, almost hazy. "I like knowing I can get you this excited."

Andrew has Neil lift his leg, positioning him so he can rub his fingers over Neil's entrance. There's a moment where Neil tenses from the feeling, but then he's relaxed again, focused on Andrew.

He never stopped to think Neil attending to Andrew's needs would also help to relax him.

"I hate you," Andrew says, so resigned, and Neil's smile is smug as can be.

He gives a squeeze to the base of Andrew's cock, pressing the head to his cheek. "I think this means you like me."

Andrew burns the image into his head.

"There are better uses for your mouth," Andrew snaps, but Neil is already swallowing him whole, hollowing out his cheeks so his cock can sit heavy and warm in his mouth. Neil's eyes flutter shut, freezing in place for an agonizing second, and Andrew guesses he's not the only one who savors these things. He feels Neil swallow around him, and petulantly holds in his moan. Neil’s eyes flutter open to glare playfully before he’s moving, steady and easy, in retaliation. The feeling is enough to pull grunts out of Andrew, and he feels his stomach jump from the slide of Neil’s mouth, but not enough to make him come too fast.

Neil's hand rests against Andrew's stomach, feeling every twitch.

Andrew tugs Neil's shirt up as far as he can, the scars grounding him. He needs something else to focus on, not to get out of his own head this time, but just to stop himself from thrusting into Neil's mouth.

The idiot is already prone to making himself choke from his own enthusiasm, he doesn't need Andrew helping.

With that in mind, Andrew digs deep for the gentlest touch he can manage, and presses his finger into Neil. It's not something he's ever been good at, softness; he's a rock. Firm, rough, but something to keep Neil safe. His hands are deadly and harsh, but for this...

He tries.

His finger pushes inside slowly, thumb pressed against the underside of Neil's balls to give him some relief. He feels Neil jolt from the foreignness, but he doesn't push away. No grimace, no fear. Andrew wonders what it feels like...

A dark part of him whispers that he should know, but rationale sets in. No, he wouldn't. Not this, not something wanted and craved. Neil gasps with Andrew's cock still in his mouth, hand shaky where he strokes what his mouth can't reach. And Andrew...Andrew didn't think about this part.

Andrew isn't prepared, could've never been prepared for how _warm_ Neil is. He sighs as he pushes in and out slowly, the slick sounds barely audible over the sounds from Neil's throat. Neil's messy when it comes to these things, and his fist is wet where it pumps Andrew. That, together with the loud swallows, is deafening.

And of course, Neil is so impatient. Andrew takes his sweet time for them both, since at this point he has to squeeze the base of his cock to keep from getting too close to the edge. The thought of his cock replacing his finger, squeezed so tight...

Neil's hips start to roll back, not familiar or sure of the touch, but more comfortable with it. And hellbent on provoking Andrew further, even if involuntarily.

He pushes Neil's damp bangs away from his hair, a silent warning to slow it down, and thankfully the striker does. He takes his mouth away, but keeps his hand stroking agonizingly slow. Andrew tears his gaze away from the line of spit connected to Neil’s mouth.

Can’t lose focus, but Neil’s always made that hard.

Andrew takes another deep breath before he pushes in another finger, and the pattern repeats. He waits for Neil's hips to start chasing the sensation, and then he stretches him, letting him feel the ghost of the real thing. He watches Neil's brow furrow, little whimpers starting to leave his mouth, unsure. They increase in volume as his hips thrust back a little more eagerly, legs trembling, choked gasps a little too close to Andrew’s name. The confusion in his eyes blends so brilliantly with the arousal.

For a moment, Andrew wonders if Neil is uncomfortable, but then the puzzle pieces line up. It doesn't take Andrew long to realize what it is. Neil feels _good_ , _likes_ this, and that it hasn't quite sunk in for him that he does.

Oh Neil, a fast learner huh?

Something primal stirs in Andrew's chest at knowing Neil loves being fingered open, legs spread and thighs sticky. This just means Andrew can take him apart this way now, can learn how to do it best so Neil’s eyes roll back. They won't always need to go all the way, he can do this simply because Neil will come completely undone from it. Fingering Neil against a wall, stretching him until he comes...

He maybe jumps ahead too fast. Andrew adds another digit quickly, roughly, and Neil yelps. The sound quickly dissolves into a whine and a shiver, and Andrew freezes.

As if he can't believe the feeling, Neil presses his hand against his own abdomen, feeling it jump.

"O-Oh," Neil hiccups, and Andrew refuses to move. He hates it, but despite his consideration for Neil, his mind is fogged because...

Shit, Neil feels so _tight_.

"Okay?" Andrew asks, and when did his voice get so low? It's throaty, drenched in barely held restraint, and Neil shivers from it.

"Y-yeah," Neil says with a nod and a ghost of a laugh. Stupid, so stupid-- "It's different but..."

Neil blinks, lost, staring at some faraway place Andrew can't reach.

Neil _cannot_ leave him hanging like this right now. Not when Andrew is two seconds away from putting an end to it.

" _Neil_."

The harshness makes the striker groan, hiding his face in a rare show of embarrassment. "I'm _okay_. Just...your fingers...fuck Andrew, you're going to be _inside_ me."

Andrew leans down and kisses him _hard_ ; he just needs it, needs to communicate some of the tumultuousness going on inside of him. It never gets easier, having his feelings mirrored so easily. How the hell does Neil know how he feels without realizing?

His fantasies, his desires…

Shared.

Neil, never knowing when he shut up, whispers into the kiss. "It feels so good..."

The excitement shows; Neil's legs try to lift where Andrew is keeping them apart. Briefly, he imagines smearing his come over Neil's thighs, since the striker tends to rub them together when he's excited, like he's trying to do now.

Andrew gives Neil something then, his noises, the groans he normally keeps back, if only to make Neil keen. He always did like making Andrew lose control.

"Feel good?" Andrew says, almost mocking, and decides to finally pull something else from the necessary information he kept at the front of his mind.

He hooks his fingers inside Neil, searching for the angle until--

"Holy _fuck_ ," Neil yells, with no regard for anyone who might be through the walls. That's alright; the mouthiness was never a turn off. Neil gives a full body spasm, shock and disbelief at war on his face. His jaw hangs open, and Neil brings his hand up to press the back of it to his mouth.

So reactive.

Andrew nearly smirks as he leans in; _well, that wasn't so hard to find._

"Feel that?" He asks, watching Neil fist the sheets with his other hand.

The striker swallows, panting hard. "W-what--"

"Now, now," Andrew sighs, not covering up his amusement very well. "Pay attention this time."

He presses his fingers into the spot again, and Neil's back arches beautifully. Runners...Andrew guesses they're not so bad.

" _Fuck_ \--fuck _yes_ ," Neil cries out, chest heaving. It almost compels him to do it again, but with Neil so on edge, this will end before they can even try to go further. The desperation in Neil's eyes, the satisfaction, is enough to soothe some of the anxiety in the pit of Andrew's stomach.

"Do it again," Neil demands, nearly pleads, trying to roll his hips to do it himself.

It takes all of Andrew’s self-control to not obey, which is terrifying. No one tells Andrew what to do, he hates to give in, but with Neil like this it's like a siren song.

Yet, he manages. "No."

He squeezes the base of his cock again, still leaking from Neil's earlier attention.

_If I watch you react like that I'll come._

As if realizing the same thing, Neil petulantly leans forward to tongue at Andrew's cock, and Andrew pulls him back by the hair.

Neil, the idiot, pushes against the hold teasingly, riling them both up.

“Antsy,” Andrew scoffs, as if part of him doesn’t burn because of it.

Andrew uses the distraction to scissor his fingers one last time inside Neil, careful to avoid his prostate. Neil winces at the stretch and Andrew waits, lets Neil adjust, and between the sounds of their heaving breaths he allows himself to give some more.

"So warm," he sighs, actually _sighs_ , and Neil’s answering groan is too debauched, his cock twitching from the praise. Andrew files that away for later.

He’s been filing a lot of things away for later, _good_ things.

"Yeah?" Neil challenges, because it's what he does. "Then c'mon."

And right now...a 'no' would be a lie. Andrew pulls his fingers out, and joins Neil on the bed with shaky limbs, grabbing Neil's hips to turn him over so his ass is in the air.

It's the first time Neil resists him. The striker fights the manhandling, keeping his eyes on Andrew's face. "Andrew, I want--"

"Neil--"

"But--"

"It'll hurt less this way," Andrew says, with hardly any room for argument. It would make it easier, that's what Roland said, and Andrew made sure not to lose that in the minefield of information he took in. "It'll be more comfortable for you."

Neil stares at him for a good long minute, as if that'll do anything. He's familiar enough with Andrew's tones to know there's not really room for argument here. Andrew's about to say they don't have to if Neil doesn't want to, but then Neil sighs.

"Okay," he says, nodding. "I want to see your face next time though."

The promise of next time is too much to think about right then, made worse by Neil's next request. "Kiss me?"

Like of all things, _that's_ too much to ask. Like Andrew doesn't seal everything between them with a kiss and a firm touch. Andrew leans forward, surprisingly slow, and catches Neil's lips softly. Steadying, deep, while he grabs a handful of Neil’s ass.

Neil shivers when he pulls away, turning around and pressing his head into the mattress. He's a sight, one Andrew will never let anyone else see. Before he was comfortable enough to be this open with Neil, Andrew would never let himself admire, labeling the urge as a waste of time. Now, Andrew runs his hand over the slope of Neil's ass, thumbing the ghosts of scars and faded burns. All he sees is strong legs, and Neil's leaking cock hanging between them.

All for Andrew, only for Andrew.

With shaking fingertips Andrew coats himself in a little too much lube before lining himself up, pressing his forehead against Neil's spine.

This is it, now, next, this moment--

The dark cloud, the one which sits in the back of his head, kept mostly at bay this whole time, creeps forward...

Andrew doesn't sense it, can't think. His mind is a vault locked beneath an ocean, and he never knows how far the tide will come up to trap him further.

"I'm going to push in," he breathes into Neil's skin, as if Neil can't feel the head of his cock rubbing against his entrance, promising. Then, in a moment of remarkable rawness, Andrew doesn’t hold back what he’s thinking. "I'm going to feel all of you."

It should feel like a release, cathartic. Andrew should’ve known to pause right then, because it doesn’t. It sounds an awful lot like he's trying to convince one of them. Neil moans, doesn’t sense it, and spreads his legs further.

Andrew can't see his face but--

His vision sways, and he realizes he didn't get a verbal yes, nevermind that he doesn't always need them anymore.

He leans back, he can see the body in front of him, the headboard. He pushes the tip of his cock inside, and the heat is overwhelming, squeezing him so hard he winces.

So tight, it can't possibly feel good for Neil, it's like he's forcing his way inside and--

He sees hands fly up to scrape at the headboard, and imagines they're held there, unable to move, unable to break away, to get free.

He can't hear Neil's voice, can't see his face, can't tell.

Andrew's entire body goes rigid, and the choked noise which escapes him disgusts him beyond all belief. He moves away like he's been struck, violent and cornered on the other side of the bed.

No. No, no, _no_.

Neil moves into action surprisingly fast, but doesn't try to follow Andrew. He knows better. As soon as Andrew sees the ring of blue, he feels slightly better, but still far too exposed. Neil yanks the nearest blanket over Andrew, covering him before pulling down his shirt and wrapping the sheet around his waist.

Andrew wonders if that's a good thing for his mind right then. He needs to see. He searches Neil for injuries, bores his gaze into him until he finds evidence of pain or distrust. He needs to look closer, to make sure, but if he touches Neil he'll make it worse.

He’ll make all this worse.

Yet, there’s nothing on Neil but the marks of the past, not all of them bad. Andrew eyes where the faded hickies meet crisscrossing scars. He keeps staring, navigating from afar, and finds nothing of what he's expecting. There's only concern in Neil's gaze, and an adamance which keeps Andrew focused on the present.

Neil’s feet dig into the bed, keeping himself in check even though Andrew knows he’d rather be looking Andrew over too.

"Andrew," Neil says, a little loud, because he knows if Andrew is somewhere other than the present he often needs to be jolted back to reality. "Andrew it's me."

But well, Neil would be wrong.

_That's the problem. It's you._

It was Neil, underneath him, it was Neil who filled the role of someone so vulnerable.

Andrew takes a slow gulp of air, and he doesn't try to soften his words. There's no way to, right then.

"I know," Andrew says, unbelievably loud in the space. Cold. And oh, he does not like this at all. The slow realization, the understanding of what happened.

Neil's chest is still heaving, and Andrew's mind begins to clear. Neil looks the farthest from scared, he was feeling _good_ , the haze in his eyes very much there. Craving, waiting for Andrew to give him something he ultimately could not.

And isn't that rich?

Andrew, despite knowing there would most likely be setbacks, who should've seen this coming, doesn't know what to do with this. Disappointment is an old emotion he has not felt in so long, ugly and _worse_ than any good or anxious feeling he's begun to experience more.

It's full body, and makes him want to rip his hair out. They’d been so close.

He's aware he has nothing to feel guilty for, or upset by. Calling this a mess-up is not accurate, and it would be idiotic to do so. And yet, he...

Neil’s breathing stutters when Andrew looks away from him, like he misses it already.

Andrew does too, and he’s got no fight in him left to pick that apart. He just gives in and slides his gaze back to his boyfriend, the word coming easy to him for once.

Neil opens his mouth then closes it, thinking better of it. The coldness in Andrew's eyes is directed inward, wholly at himself. But Neil sees it all, the anger and frustration, and knows it's not time for this discussion. Even when it's clear he's in the dark, doesn't know what caused it, can't get past the wall blocking Andrew's mind, he knows when a boundary needs to be enforced.

They'll talk, soon, but Andrew can't now.

He hates that he can't, that's it's not his fault he can't.

Robbed of control, always.

He fists his hands in the blankets, stretching the fabric, as if he can mimic the feeling anyways. Neil's back hits the headboard softly, letting the quiet settle between them and makes no move to break it. Those bright blue eyes drift between Andrew and the bathroom door, as if debating on leaving, giving Andrew space. There’s not an ounce of disappointment on Neil’s face.

And shit, the itch to leave is _rampant_. He knows Neil wouldn't mind, but Andrew does. He doesn't want to leave Neil like this, not after something so intense for them both, so new, but he needs to be alone in his own head. That's out of his control too.

But some things have changed, some things he still has the strength to challenge.

He turns towards the wall, where he can focus on the cracks and faded wallpaper instead of Neil's warm body and concern, and lies down rigidly. This isn't tension Neil will be able to rid him of, but it's okay. Andrew doesn't expect him to.

Instead, he puts his back to Neil, a small acquiescence, a show of trust. Andrew never sleeps with his face to the wall.

Andrew hopes Neil takes the gesture as 'stay, be here.'

Andrew will only be able to do this if Neil brackets him off, closed to the world.

There's a long pause of debate while Neil tenses, and Andrew closes his eyes. He’s exhausted suddenly. He wouldn't be offended if Neil left, he tells himself, but his pulse spikes in relief when he feels the mattress shift with Neil's weight as he lies down, leaving space between them.

Traitorous heart.

And through all the slog in his head, Andrew can't help but think the gaze on the back of his neck is the closest thing to comfort.

\--

Later that night, Andrew breathes in smoke on the rooftop. He comes here more for tradition now than anything; the fear of falling is still there, but he doesn't need it to jumpstart his emotions like he used to.

There are easier ways to do it now, and he hears a foolproof method open the door behind him. Andrew doesn't flinch when Neil walks up, his head mostly cleared of its earlier fog, leaving behind annoyance and frustration.

He didn't give permission for those to remain either, but here they are. He knows it's mostly resolved, if he can call it that, because the sight of Neil makes his chest feel warm instead of worried.

It’s also unsettling, but not something he's actively trying to be rid of. Warmth, comfort. He’s too tired to lash out. Andrew quirks a brow as Neil stands there, messing with the edge of his sleeves.

Andrew's jacket.

It's then Andrew realizes the one he's wearing must be Neil's, grabbed without a second thought after it was his turn to shower. Routine; Andrew can’t remember the last time he wore his own jacket, except for when Neil asked him to.

So it would smell like him again.

With a sigh, Andrew flicks his cigarette off the side of the building, not watching it fall to its demise. Neil is much more interesting.

The striker takes a hesitant step forward, a silent question, and Andrew can’t stand him.

"Come here," Andrew mimics, a callback to earlier, and the relief on Neil's face is almost annoying. The grin which breaks out on his face is a wave, threatening to drown Andrew as Neil plops down at his side. He leaves a bit of distance, just in case, but Andrew closes it until Neil is flush against him.

It has an instantaneous result; the rest of the tension in both their bodies floods out, and Andrew thinks with some bemusement if Neil were a cat, he'd be purring.

This is familiar, but Andrew has no place for regret in regards to the new things that happened earlier. He thinks it through slowly again, for the tenth time that day, carving around the ugliness. He'd felt good, before it happened. Exhilarating, on fire. Neil, coming apart beneath him. Those are not things he'd ever take back. Neil bites his lip, and Andrew really wishes he'd stop, since it's starting to trigger a Pavlovian response. "We...don't have to talk about it," Neil says, unsure of himself.

Again, he's mistaken.

"Yes we do," Andrew mutters, because it's not what he'd _like_ to do per say, but...

They're sharing, he figures this is kind of part of it. Talking about these things is a little easier, if not akin to pulling teeth. It was like that before too...but now, it's like he's finally being allowed anesthesia.

Neil sighs, like he knew it all along, and nods with a sheepish smile. He keeps shifting too much, torn between wanting to soak up all of Andrew's warmth and see his face at the same time.

"What happened?" Neil asks, never one to beat around the bush once the direction is clear.

Andrew's finger drums on his knee, wishing he hadn't thrown out his cigarette. How to say it...he doesn't have the patience or care to tailor it. "Seeing you like that, for a moment I thought I was hurting you."

That's the basics of it, he thinks. The memories had blurred together, conjuring up the past instead of forcing Andrew back into it. Neil in his place, hands on a headboard, trying to get away...

Neil hums beside him, considering it. Andrew notes how he doesn't refute the reason, doesn't try to remind Andrew that he specifically told the blond to not worry about hurting him. Things are seldom so simple, and the war torn canvas of Andrew's mind can't always be wiped clean with a single statement.

"Because of the position?" Neil asks a beat later, tilting his head, and Andrew suppresses his anger. So much for that position being best, of course it would come back to bite him.

"I couldn't see your face, couldn't tell," Andrew agrees without actually doing so. "I just saw your hands scrape the bed frame."

It had been enough. Nothing more to it.

Neil nods, breathing deep. Like he’s soaking up Andrew’s presence. Once, Andrew snapped at him to stop, like if he did it too much Andrew would wither into nothing. Now, it just offers infuriating stability.

"I would've told you as soon as something was off," Neil states, and it's reassurance, not exasperation or something condescending. In fact, Neil almost looks _guilty._ "I should've kn--"

Andrew's head whips to face him, tone harsh, so Neil doesn't finish the thought. " _No_ , you couldn't have known. I didn't even know. Stop it."

_It's not your fault._

Trial and error, they know the position doesn't work now, at least not at the moment. That's all there is to it, no point in lingering.

Andrew feels it so strongly it threatens to break him in two. If Neil doesn't get that idea out of his head, Andrew might just kill him for real.

Neil's protests die, which is a feat only Andrew has mastered. Making Neil shut up is not straightforward. The striker kicks his legs out in front of him, tapping the edges of his shoes together.

It's not cute.

"Mm," Neil hums, nodding. "We'll just have to try again then, if you want to..."

The smile fades for a moment, and Neil's shoulders tense, fearing he's jumped the gun too soon. Neil has such an idiotic way of putting things, blunt and now without the lies, it makes relief battle with frustration inside Andrew. Of course Neil would worry about this, that Andrew wouldn't want _him._

After all that, as if it's even possible for Andrew to not want Neil.

"Don't ask stupid questions," he grits out predictably, overcome with the gravity of this, of how talking to Neil can feel like a warm mug of hot chocolate on a bad night.

Neil's smirk is small, not as powerful as usual, but still _there_ enough to set Andrew on edge. "You want me then?"

Andrew can't do this. If he had the energy to roll his eyes, he would.

He leans back, staring up at the starless sky, a black void. He imagines the lights of Eden's flashing while the heavy bass bounces off the walls. "Every inch of you."

In a random act of therapy application, he brings the past up on purpose, if only to see the way Neil's eyes widen.

_There, maybe that'll shut you up._

It's wishful thinking.

"Andrew..." Neil whispers, following him to the dusty floor. Neil's eyes are brighter in the dark, Andrew thinks; it's like they glow.

It pulls the last of his thoughts out of him.

"I don't know how many times I'll get it wrong," Andrew says, surprising even himself. Already, the words feel like vomit, leaving a bad aftertaste. It was a bad way to phrase it, even he knows, but he has to make Neil aware.

This could happen again.

He remembers Neil's excitement, the yearning, the abrupt cutoff of all of it.

Neil is entirely unfazed by the gloom, swatting away the veil over Andrew's mind.

Literally. Neil brings his hand up in front of Andrew’s face, waving.

Andrew really can’t do this.

"And?" Neil asks, blinking stupidly. He looks almost...amused. "Andrew there's no three strikes policy, we can try as many times as we need to."

_Do **not** use sports references when it comes to our sex life._

Andrew shoves him, and the tightness in his chest fades away with the normalcy of it all. Neil doesn't mind, doesn't care. Andrew should've seen that coming too. "Was that a vague baseball reference? From you?"

Neil grimaces, offended. The scars under his eyes scrunch up, and Andrew digs his thumb into one.

"Shut up," Neil grumbles, burying his forehead in Andrew's shoulder.

"I'll tell Kevin you betrayed him."

Neil snorts. "I don't think he'll appreciate the context."

No, he most certainly would not. Like Andrew cares.

He scoffs, but soaks in the feeling of their usual banter, of the weight of the day bleeding out from them both.

And then Neil, in all his devastation, has to hit Andrew one more time.

"There's no getting it wrong," the striker says a moment later, head popping back up so his chin is resting on Andrew. His hair is a goddamn mess. "It always feels good, when we lose control."

Andrew doesn't refute the always for that statement.

His breathing catches, his fingers tangling in the mess of Neil's hair, and kisses him.

He lets his mind flood with the better images, of fingering Neil open, Neil's mouth on him, the moans, the touch...

"Next time," he breathes against Neil's cheek, letting his lips feel the roughness of his scars.

Neil nods, chasing Andrew's lips like he's insatiable. He is. Andrew slows him with a hand to the chest, licking into Neil's mouth teasingly. "Did it feel good?"

He wants to hear it again, he needs to know, to reinforce it.

Neil laughs into the kiss. "It felt _incredible_ , fuck...your _hands_ Andrew," he breathes, letting his own be guided up to Andrew's hair. With the permission clear, he tugs on the loose hairs of Andrew's nape, massaging.

And there's no rush in this, they won't be taking it any further, but they don't need to.

Yes, yes, it all must be one big dream, this life he lives with Neil. But instead of pushing it away before it can end, Andrew has decided to indulge as long as he can.

"Tell me," he says into the skin of Neil's neck, doing what he didn't have the time to before. Marking, savoring.

Neil laughs breathily, and has the audacity to point at the next spot on his neck, tapping it in a silent request for Andrew to plant one on him.

Fine then.

"It's like you're so confident," Neil rambles, unashamed as always. Andrew rolls them over so he's on top of Neil, not for the security, but just because he knows Neil likes to feel cocooned, safe. He gets to work on the spot, swirling his tongue against it. "Like taking me apart is your only goal. I was thinking if that felt so good...how would your cock feel--"

Andrew bites down _hard_ , and Neil yelps.

Well, someone walking by definitely heard that.

Neil is right though; it is Andrew's only goal, ripping sounds out of Neil's throat and bringing him to his knees. He likes when Neil thrashes, wants more, pleads without words.

"I'd slide right in," Andrew states, like one of his facts, a promise. It makes his own head spin. He knows he would, when he can, it'll be..."When I do fuck you, I'm going to make sure it's all you can think about."

That way, they'll be in the same boat.

The smile Neil gives him is mischievous and way too proud. "Already there," he gloats, rubbing at the sore spot on his neck. He looks far too pleased about the growing bruise. "What about you?"

Andrew's about to go for the other side of Neil's neck when the question halts him. He lifts his head back up, gaze questioning.

Neil's eyes get impossibly brighter. "What felt good Andrew?"

And in an instant, Andrew understands. Neil's eyes are lidded, staring up at him expectantly. There can be no dwelling on what went wrong, only what went _right_.

Neil invites him to write over the past.

Andrew leans down, closes his eyes, and his forehead meets Neil's. He hopes no one ever sees them like this, it's all Andrew's, all of it.

"You took me so easy," Andrew says, and Neil tenses on instinct, as if remembering it too. Oh yes, Andrew intends to explore that, _thoroughly_. "You were so damn loud."

Neil doesn't point out how he's usually loud, and therefore Andrew is confessing to having a thing for his voice. They can both infer enough to see through it.

So instead, Neil leans up to slot their lips together firmly, the promise of 'next time' searing the deal into place. "Bet you I can be louder."

And Neil, with all his infuriating seduction, is a challenge Andrew can never back down from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! All comments are appreciated, I can't thank y'all enough <3 I hope to be back next week! Also yes this turned into 5 chapters because I can't control my word count I'm sorry...
> 
> Buuuut I'm getting some art done for this fic so I'm excited to share ;)))
> 
> I hope everyone stays safe, and remember I'm proud of you regardless of if you're productive during this quarantine or not. Hang in there, and feel free to come chat with me about aftg at any time! 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I returneth and I'm very excited/nervous about this chapter! All the support on this fic has been overwhelming and I'm so grateful! This story is very special to me and I can't believe it's almost over tbh ; ; Still, thanks everyone for reading along, I hope you enjoy this extra long chapter ;) Honestly the only reason it's like that is because splitting it up didn't work well so sorryyyy
> 
> Big thanks to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for betaing this for me!

The second time they try is perhaps worse than the first, in that the interruption doesn't come from either of them.

Part of Andrew, the small part which sometimes wonders if there is some eternal being running the show, would love nothing more than to fight them for making his life like this.

It's even more irritating because the second time, he's _ready_. He's more than ready.

He's burning.

Andrew slams the door to their dorm room shut so hard the wall shakes. His free hand, the one not tangled in Neil's hair, locks it without a second thought. The sound of it clicking into place is like a starting gun, telling him they're alone, it's just them.

He can do whatever he wants.

He expects his hands to be clammy, unsure, but he hasn't moved with so much purpose in a long time, and certainly not for his own benefit.

Neil's breathy laugh is quickly turned into a gasp when Andrew locks their lips together, the desperate smacks bouncing off the walls. Kissing shouldn't feel this mind-blowing; Andrew's done it thousands of times, but when Neil moans into his mouth, it coaxes out all of Andrew's primal urges. The striker pins his tongue down, guides Andrew's hands to the curve of his back, telling Andrew to _take_. He growls against Neil's lips for the trick, but gives in anyway. Neil is just too much, offered willingly, wantonly.

He grabs handfuls of Neil's ass, pulling him flush to his body, showing off his strength. The cotton leggings are soft, thin, and Andrew pulls at the fabric to stretch it. He's been building up to this since this morning, when he watched Neil slowly pull the offensive pants over the curve of his ass.

Class afterwards had been interesting.

Andrew pulls Neil up a little higher; the striker's feet don't touch the floor, held completely. It's what Neil likes, though he's never said it. He knows Andrew can hold him up, dependable.

Neil doesn't even startle, just throws his head back from the promise of it. A mess already, both of them.

This time, there's no question about it. Andrew is rock hard in his jeans, trying not to hump Neil's leg for friction. There's more he wants to do, more they've been _waiting_ to do.

Andrew's mind runs a mile a minute, but not with second guessing or caution from before.

It's clear, his mind is so _clear_. The desire to take is there, but there's no guilt or shame with it. Because Neil wants it, Neil's going to _give_. Andrew only feels pure, unsullied _longing_.

He acts on it, before it has the chance to leave him again.

He slams Neil against the wall, and the striker moans, like he's grateful for it. Strong legs wrap around Andrew's back after a rushed yes, pulling him impossibly close. He wonders if Neil is really afraid of Andrew leaving him in this state; it would be a sight to see Neil whining like that...

Neil's practically vibrating with excitement, rutting forward already as he kicks off his shoes. The clatter of them behind him sends Andrew's heart rate into a frenzy, it's nearly unacceptable.

He doesn't have time to correct it, when Neil looks like this. He can only feel _want_. The blue in Neil's eyes is wiped out, and Andrew wants to trace the scars on his face, flushed from their exertion.

Neil has other ideas; his shaking hands paw at Andrew's jacket, willing it off, and Andrew nearly smirks. He can't though, because he's just as bad right then.

He pulls Neil's hoodie off, ruffling his hair, and his hands are everywhere after that. He presses them along Neil's ribs, his collar bones, stopping to roll one of his nipples between his fingers. Neil keens from the attention, but his lidded eyes find the bulge in Andrew's pants quickly. Neil never likes to be the only one feeling good, not these days, when Andrew so willingly lets him reciprocate. "Andrew, I want--"

Andrew silences him with a harsh kiss, pinching the nub between his fingers.

Neil almost looks offended when Andrew moves away, but then his eyes widen, pulled into submission by Andrew's low tone.

If Andrew ever does admit he likes Neil's legs, it'll be the day Neil has to admit he has a thing for Andrew's voice.

"I know what you want," Andrew states, a vow. Right then, Neil wants to be taken apart, but more than that...

He wants to share this, finally, after all their talking and the memory of their first attempt. They're going to try again, and for once the possibility of failure isn't nearly as daunting. No matter what...

_"It always feels good, when we lose control."_

Andrew forces himself to think for a moment, his hands reaching back down to cup Neil's thighs. He can't help but squeeze, and a little gentler, Andrew lifts Neil to move them to the bed. As tempting as wall sex might sound in his head, this is still their first time.

No discomfort, no navigating more than they have to.

Neil seems to understand this, and goes slack in Andrew's arms, mouthing at his neck lazily.

The air in the room feels frantic, but it doesn't stop the wave of calm that hits them both. Andrew sets Neil down, and the striker's body creates space for him, pulling him forward so they're locked together. There's a pause as Neil falls onto his back, an infinite moment locked away in the second their eyes meet.

Neil's attempt to fight off a smile is pathetic, and he taps the side of Andrew's face by his eye. There's no blood or bruising there this time. It's as if to test Andrew is real, that this is happening.

Andrew breathes in shakily at the feeling which hits him, not knowing where to place it. The spectrum of emotions was locked away for so long, but this...he doesn't think it would be easy to place in any situation.

He's reluctant to pull away, but Neil only squirms excitedly when he does. He knows. Andrew grabs the book bag at the foot of the bed, emptying it haphazardly. The condoms fall on top of Neil, and Andrew swallows around the lump in his throat. It's terrible, what the sight does to him, like he's some teenage boy. Neil takes it in stride though, grabbing one and eyeing the reflective packaging with intensity.

So easy to read in moments like this.

Neil holds one of the condoms in front of his face, eyeing Andrew teasingly, like he can hear his thoughts. It's annoying, but it doesn't stop the traitorous part of Andrew from wondering how many of these they'd be able to go through...

"You can see me this time," Neil breathes, and Andrew stills. It’s a throwaway statement to anyone else, unnecessary, clunky. It relieves any last dredges of tension Andrew might have.

Oh, he can see alright. Neil is on his back, in front of Andrew, no room to miss the yearning or lust in his features. The striker brushes his bangs aside, like they're obstructive, and the feeling from before overflows back in Andrew's chest. Neil is so giddy about it, and the softness in the words threatens to choke Andrew. He grabs Neil's face with both hands, like he almost can't believe it.

They're not making the same mistake, it won't be like last time.

"I can," he echoes, not knowing what else he can do. This is troublesome he knows, the fact something so ridiculous can make him feel at ease. He searches his mind for hesitation, for any reason to not do this. He’s not able to stop, it's in his nature to look for the snag, but he finds none.

So he moves forward.

Andrew's hips slot against Neil's ass, and he feels the striker's entire body shiver. With a glare, he tugs at the fabric of Neil's leggings, ruined by his eager hands.

Whoever bought Neil these things can die. They're stirrup leggings, the dark fabric stretching down past his ankles to hook around his feet. They match Neil's new style of armbands, the ones that snake a little further down his arm's than Andrew's.

Allison is the most likely culprit he realizes, since the coordination was obviously made with some care.

She's going to pay.

"You like them," Neil states, a fact. He wears them on purpose, they both know it, like how Andrew started wearing more tank tops to the gym.

Despite that, he pinches Neil's thigh, relishing in the jolt.

"Admit you wear them just to be a nuisance," Andrew dodges the admission, as if it helps.

Neil's grin proves it. "When you admit you like how they make my ass look."

But well, that will never happen. Andrew sees no point in admitting the obvious.

He slides his hands over the fabric leisurely, hooking his fingers into the waistband. It's almost a shame he's two seconds from ripping the damn things to shreds if only to get Neil naked faster. Andrew's fingers twitch at the promise, and he sees the moment Neil sits up in anticipation for it. He knows what comes next.

Greedy, aren't we?

"Can we--" Neil starts, and his pants aren't even off.

"Yes Neil," Andrew sighs, as if it's a chore for him. He pushes the leggings and Neil's underwear down in one fluid movement, quick enough to make Neil gasp. It's a direct contradiction to his bored tone, he knows, but Neil likes it. "I'm going to fuck you with my fingers."

Neil's pupils dilate like a starving animal. Andrew regards him with a raised eyebrow; when he'd first suspected Neil would love the feeling of Andrew's fingers inside him, he hadn't anticipated how much. In the days since their first try, it's been the preferred way to get off. He can't judge Neil, when Andrew had been curious to experiment with it anyways. He’s not sick of it, making Neil come untouched, watching him writhe and push against Andrew's hand. Neil's never been shameless when it comes to those things. It’s especially apparent now that there’s no death sentence over his head. Plus, Andrew won't exploit his weaknesses.

So, when Neil enjoys something, he _enjoys_ it for all it's worth. Andrew's pretty sure the shape of his fingers is imprinted inside Neil at this point, with how ridiculous they've been about it.

Briefly, Andrew wonders if after they go through with this his sex drive will finally calm down. It would make sense.

Right now though, his mind always circles back around to it. How to feel good, how to make Neil feel _better_.

Andrew presses down on Neil's perineum, watching Neil tense up with want. "You'll have to be good and not come this time though," he reminds, breathing the words into Neil's warm skin.

He'd rather not overstimulate Neil to that extent, though it's an intriguing thought.

With a huff of a laugh, Neil presses his foot down on Andrew's thigh, near where his cock strains in his jeans. "The same to you."

Andrew can't wait anymore.

"Be useful," he says, pushing the condom back into Neil's hands while he finds the bottle of lube.

"Jerk," Neil says without any heat, but he doesn't go to tear the condom open. That's the thing with Neil, if he's fixated on something he can't move on. His hand hovers over Andrew's groin, questioning. "Andrew--"

" _Yes_ ," Andrew growls, and Neil continues to surprise him with how fast he can move.

Neil flings Andrew's belt to the floor, and his pants are down before he can revel in the relief of it. He winces from the cool air on his cock, his body grateful.

Neil is so considerate of Andrew's needs it's infuriating, and yet Andrew's body _reacts_ so well for him.

Neil slides a pillow underneath himself, too eager, but Andrew realizes he's already scooting forward with need.

And still, there's nothing wrong, nothing in the air telling him to stop.

There's just...them.

Neil seems to sense this too, even as Andrew's fingers pause at his entrance, intent clear. He brings Andrew lower, so he can feel all his body heat, the ghost of what's to come.

Weight, heat, fullness.

They stop, breathe, take each other in. Neil's eyes are...Andrew doesn't have a word for them. He should be upset, and yet he can't find the emotion. It doesn't apply.

Neil takes the bottle from Andrew's hand and uncaps it, tongue sliding over his kiss swollen lips. "Okay?"

He can't sound this wrecked already. And what kind of question is that?

Andrew glares, and then kisses him, unable to help it. "Yes," he says, and a few seconds later he presses two coated fingers into Neil's body, refusing to ignore the way Neil's legs spread for him, impatient.

" _Fuck_ ," Neil moans, drawing the syllables out like he can't believe how good it is. He clenches around Andrew's fingers, hand tightening on his shoulder. Andrew's cock leaks a little at the way Neil's hips twitch, and he wants to suck a mark into the bone, dig his thumb into it...

Neil's so damn hot inside. As if feeling Andrew' control slipping, Neil reaches down to pump at his cock, smearing the precum on the shaft. Neil throws his head back with another curse, reaching for the condom and tearing it open. Andrew's mind goes haywire, letting Neil sit up to slide the condom on.

 _Yes_ , Andrew's mind yells, beats against his skull. The swarm from before is back, like they've been lurking, _waiting_ to finally get what they wanted from the start.

Andrew pulls his fingers out; they've been doing this enough, Neil's already stretched, Andrew can slide right in and--

There's a loud thump on the door, like the sound of a gunshot. They both lock up, the bubble around them violently popped. Andrew's thoughts come to a screeching halt, the swarm stilling.

They react instantly, the product of paranoia from different outlets. It's disgusting how predictable they are; Andrew's first instinct is to cover Neil's body with his own, a shield from the threat. The knives in his armbands feel extra heavy, calling him. In the same vein, Neil shoots up, as if to push Andrew away from the line of fire.

The need to protect, to guard what's theirs.

The illusion of danger is quickly shattered though, when they hear Kevin's voice. "Guys! Why is the door locked? You better not be doing anything! We're supposed to be at the court!"

The knob of the room rattles obnoxiously, like Kevin might actually break it. Neil's brow furrows as he looks over at Andrew, as if to ask if he's hearing right. It's Kevin; not a madman, or a mafia gangster. Kevin. They both share a look of realization, one that quickly dissolves into a glare. Neil's expression goes from shock to pure, unadulterated _annoyance_.

"Fuck off Day!" Andrew barks, shocked by his own tone. Kevin balks from behind the door, and Andrew curses himself. He hates when he gives too much away of how he actually feels, even though he's been working through that. The urge to appear uncaring would usually still be a crutch he falls back on, but in this case it doesn't stand a chance.

He's pissed.

Neil is naked in his arms, two seconds away from being fucked into the mattress, and Andrew does _not_ like being interrupted.

But it isn't that Kevin is stupid, he's simply that much of a perfectionist with a hardhead. Like always, he steamrolls through the clear warning with another harsh knock. " _Fuck no_ , Andrew you told me you'd drive me tonight! You gave me your word!"

Neil makes a small choking noise when Andrew tenses.

Shit, Andrew _did_ say that. His memory now finds it appropriate to remind him of the promise, as well as the time of day. He knew he had to take Kevin to practice in the evening because of how much the other kept complaining about their stats, but he’d also planned for this alone time with Neil. He'd lost track of time.

Andrew never loses track of time.

"No," Neil whines, falling onto his back with a huff. Andrew's not sure if he's talking about the situation or Kevin's whole existence. Andrew's not sure he's ever in the history of knowing Neil seen him look so upset about the prospect of playing exy.

It's unheard of, and doesn't help the erection still leaking onto the bed.

Andrew can't move, his mind and body in a stalemate. He can't kill Kevin, that's off the table. He gave his word, it's on him, but...

"Let's _go_ ," Kevin yells with a final bang of his fist, his footsteps stomping down the hallway with an air of royal decree. Finality.

Dread creeps into Andrew's veins, and he looks down at Neil to see the feeling reflected in his actual expression. Neil doesn't cry, at least he hasn't let himself yet, not even after Baltimore. But ...he's upset. Those blue eyes waver a little, throwing his head back in restlessness.

Andrew wants to scold him for being so dramatic, tell him it's not a big deal, but the words wouldn't be genuine.

Andrew hates this.

Neil whimpers, but even Andrew can see he knows. He knows they have to go. Neil clings to Andrew's forearms a little tighter, as if grounding himself in the moment, cherishing the last few seconds of it.

Andrew has never wanted to stay somewhere so bad before; Neil's arms are a death sentence he realizes, because he'd waste away here without a second thought.

Neil's legs tremble from the excitement still coursing through him, and Andrew lets a grunt slip when he feels the striker's ankles knock against his back.

He can't handle it. He won't be able to go.

"Andrew..." Neil whispers, and Andrew leans down in a split second to press his forehead against Neil's. It's a firm touch, almost harsh. A warning. The silver cigarette around his neck hangs down, lingering over Neil's throat.

" _Don't_ ," Andrew snaps, swallowing around the anger. He closes his eyes; Neil's are too intense, too strong right then. Calling him, lulling him. He inhales sharply, another mistake. All his senses react to Neil. "Don't do that."

_I can't stop myself when you do._

Neil shivers; it's the opposite of Andrew's usual ' _stay_.' Because they can't, Andrew can't be tempted to. They sit there for another few seconds, unwilling to move, unable to touch _more_ for fear of falling back into it.

Andrew nearly growls as he pulls himself away harshly, trudging towards the bathroom to try and get rid of his problem.

Behind him, he hears Neil throw a pillow to the floor. _"Goddammit."_

\--

They're especially brutal at night practice.

Andrew can't resist playing; he denies every single one of Kevin's shots to the goal, and sends them far down the court each time. Kevin's practically drenched in sweat from how much Andrew is making him run, but it's not the only retribution he's receiving.

Neil is fast, faster than Kevin when he wants to be, and he intercepts every shot he can. It's a coordinated attack; they're not letting Kevin have the ball if they can help it.

For how peeved they both are, it doesn't feel like enough. Andrew isn't supposed to believe in revenge, but this isn't it he reassures himself.

It's simply justice.

Kevin curses loudly when one of Andrew's returns nearly clips his ankle. Andrew doesn't think he's ever been this ruthless at a practice, and Neil rebounds a ball a little too close to Kevin's head about five minutes later.

Andrew tries not to get too distracted by Neil's stupid determination, or his panting.

Panting. Because of exy, because they're at the court and not in bed.

Andrew's next shot rings like a bullet against the plexiglass.

By the end of it, they're all exhausted, but Kevin can barely walk. All that Raven training, for what again?

Andrew glares at him as he takes off his helmet, and oh, as if the night couldn't get more aggravating.

Kevin smiles like an idiot. "See? If you guys practiced like this all the time, we'd be unstoppable!"

Silence descends over the stadium, and Andrew is all too happy to break it before he breaks something else.

He throws his racquet on the floor, much to Kevin's horror, and stomps back to the locker room with Neil close behind.

\--

Later that week, they have their usual lunch with Katelyn and Aaron. It's not normally a chatty affair on his end, Katelyn tends to take up most of it, filling Neil in on things and instigating petty arguments between him and Aaron.

She'll never admit she does it, Andrew figured it out. He's not about to comment on Katelyn being an instigator, since that's exactly what Neil is.

Neil. Andrew grits his teeth at the dangerous train of thought, even with the striker right next to him. Neil is usually pressed against him when they sit together, but today there's a noticeable gap.

Intentional. Probably smart considering how wound up they are.

Andrew, to channel the itch in his veins, has been assembling a card tower for the past ten minutes. He's not sure if Neil is fixating so hard on him because he's impressed, or because he's imagining what other things Andrew's hands can do. Could be doing.

Either way, Andrew almost has four levels.

"Hand me another deck," he grumbles, and Neil smiles, already having opened the next one. Their fingers brush, and an urge spikes that's entirely removed from sex. Holding Neil's hand has become routine too, something to stabilize him, and he craves it. Right then, he’d probably break his fingers though, with how coiled he is, so best to not.

Andrew holds his breath and adds a card. The tower wavers.

Katelyn's chatter is missing, unheard of. The slow slurp of her soda is the only thing audible, grating on Andrew. He wonders if she knows it is. Her stare burns; Andrew doesn't dare look at her, though he's sure she's being so analytical because she's noticed how _Aaron_ is staring at them.

Ah yes, it seems his twin is being observational today. He should really save it for his science classes.

The gaze is shifty, suspecting, and it's setting Andrew on edge by the second. His brother is so obvious, but Andrew can't pinpoint why. When he flicks his gaze up to his twin's, the curiosity too much, Aaron's eyes squint rather than dart away. Like he knows something.

But he can't, right?

Even if he _did_ , there's no way he would bring it up. They have a silent agreement to never mention their sex lives after the time they ran into each other at the school convenience store in the condom aisle, looked at each other, and promptly walked away.

So yes, Aaron will keep his mouth shut to keep the peace, but Andrew still can't remember when he agreed to be this easily read.

Andrew returns to his cards, convinced that's the end of it. Neil starts to squirm beside him again, and Andrew resists rolling his eyes. He's already had to squeeze Neil's thigh three times to get him to stop.

Neil keeps his lips pressed together, keeping that mouth under control, a rare event.

It's a short-lived relief.

"Well, you two are antsy."

The whole table tenses, and Aaron wheezes.

The tower in front of Andrew crashes down, poetic, and he scowls at the remains of the battlefield.

Oh, right. Ignoring Katelyn's existence is starting to be a mistake, since she can be just as blunt as Neil. At the most random times too. The difference is with her it's often an accident, and it's followed up by strings of apologies reinforced by a sheltered suburban childhood.

Neil just doesn't give a fuck.

On cue, Katelyn blushes up to her ears, choking on her cola and waving her hands in front of her face. "No omg, I didn't mean--I'm _so_ sorry!"

But well, too late.

Aaron strides on in spite of his girlfriend's muttering, seemingly set on taking advantage of the broken ice. Andrew looks around; he can't use his knives on his brother but all he has after that is a plastic spork.

Aaron leans forward on his elbows, like he always does when he's about to tell Andrew something potentially troublesome. It's more common now, since they actually _talk_ about things, but it puts Andrew on alert anyways. This is not Bee’s office.

"Yeah..." Aaron muses, glancing between Neil and Andrew slowly. "Are you guys...fighting?"

And it's not said in concern, or disbelief, which makes Andrew suspicious from the get go. Aaron poses the question like it's one of a few possibilities, like he's narrowing Andrew's mood down like a multiple choice question.

Like he's seen this before.

Andrew glares at him before turning to Neil, a silent exchange. Neil's expression is akin to a shrug; great, he has no idea.

The confusion between them is palpable, but it's Neil who finally turns back to Aaron with a raised brow. "No? Why would we be?" Neil asks, and well...there's a lot of things they _could've_ expected.

None of them match the reaction they actually get.

Aaron retches instantly, startling even Katelyn. She jumps in her seat, watching Aaron double over.

"Ah _gross_ ," Aaron says with his head in his hands, scowling at them a second later. "This is some weird _sex_ thing. _Go away_."

Neil blanches at the same time Katelyn sputters, but Andrew keeps his face impassive. He won't give his brother the satisfaction of knowing he's right, but the fact he _is_ makes Andrew even more annoyed than before.

"How--" Neil says, because why would he deny it like any other person? Andrew needs to push the whole table off a cliff. Neil really needs to sharpen up his lying skills too, if he's going to expose them like this.

Katelyn better watch her back too; the twins are not in the business of being _this_ close. He will give it to Aaron though, he rendered Neil speechless. A true feat.

Andrew stares at Aaron, who scowls back, a standoff. These four second fights are becoming normal too.

There's a steady agreement reached in those four precious seconds: _let's pretend this never happened._

The condom aisle all over again.

Aaron pushes his tray away, grabbing Katelyn's hand. "No way am I explaining how I know, you guys always do this! I hate you..."

And yes, Andrew's had enough. He steadfastly ignores Aaron's statement that he ever shows this much too. He doesn't. "Eat shit and die."

"Don't mind if I do!"

"...."

Katelyn's face twists in confusion, but recovers long enough to wave at Neil, oblivious to it all. She's an enigma. She must be somewhat strong too, because she resists Aaron's tug for a few seconds. It's like he's trying to pull a boulder with dental floss.

Social etiquette is a hell of a drug.

"We'll just...leave you guys to it, have fun!" Katelyn says, and Aaron retches again from behind her. Andrew really has to do it, he realizes. He has to kill them both. Katelyn's face turns as red as a tomato, jaw opening and closing. "But not like... _that_ way, or yes do? You deserve it!"

Andrew hates her.

"Babe..." Aaron whines behind her, probably wishing the Earth would swallow him up. Another thing they have in common on this fine day.

Katelyn smiles as she's dragged away, winking. "See you...someday!"

The whole thing is over and done in less than two minutes, and yes, Andrew was counting. He rubs his neck, expecting pain from the whiplash that was the conversation he was forced to endure.

He watches Aaron haul ass across campus from afar, and knows they'll be back playing video games together later that night.

It's the nature of things now.

Beside him, Neil bangs his head against the table with an anguished groan. He keeps his face hidden, but Andrew reaches forward to tug on his earlobe.

Drama queen.

"I hate them," Neil mutters, an echo of Andrew's thoughts. He can't see him, but he's sure Neil can feel his agreeing nod.

With a sigh, Andrew starts on a new card tower. "At least you're not related to one of them."

And well, Neil couldn't compete with that if he tried.

\--

One of the traditions which stuck after Baltimore, and perhaps one of the only things Andrew let Neil dwell on, was the giant pile the foxes made around him the night after.

The impromptu sleepover had been one of the only times Andrew allowed himself to sleep so close to others, bordered on both sides. At the time, Neil had needed him more, and Andrew would've been next to him even if they were dangling over a ledge. His need to protect had been on the fritz, his heart unable to calm down at the thought of losing Neil, of letting him out of his sight ever again.

So naturally, his fear and distrust of others had been a non-issue. He hadn't had the space in his head to think about it. Plus, he isn't and never was afraid of the foxes.

Annoyed by them is another feeling entirely.

Once a month, Nicky makes them build a pillow fort in the common area and forces them to watch trashy movies. Aaron won't say no because Katelyn often comes, and the rest of them use it as an excuse to get drunk and rag on Nicky's tastes in films.

Neil stares at Andrew, Andrew tries not to stare back, and it ends up with them all passed out in varying positions, Neil squeezed next to Andrew as they hog the couch.

It's routine, as much as Andrew hates to admit it. He never meant to become so used to the gatherings, or attend them at all, but they've begun to grate on his nerves less.

Neil never misses a single one, and Andrew can't avoid it.

But, none of them are engineering majors, and therefore don't possess the architectural skills to make a long standing pillow fort. Andrew also refuses to help.

Therefore, the pieces of furniture they move around to make it work only end up creating fire hazards and traps for those who need to get up at any point to piss. Typically, they end up toppled over in a mess of sheets and pillows the next day, and stay there.

It's pathetic, really, like toddlers are behind it.

Currently, Andrew and Neil are lying down in the graveyard of blankets that was once their shitty tent. Andrew already knows it won't get cleaned up for days, not until one of them actually trips over something. Andrew's certainly not going to help with that either.

The other foxes must've had the same idea, since they're nowhere to be found.

 _'Well, I think it's time for brunch,'_ Allison had said before the rest of the hungover team followed her out.

Only Neil and Andrew decided to stay behind, on account of Neil's forgotten math homework he needed to get done.

Andrew really should've known.

He stares up at the ceiling, listening to the offbeat tap of Neil's pencil against his textbook. They're on Andrew's comforter, or maybe he should call it _their_ comforter. They rarely sleep separately these days. Even the nights where Andrew needs the space, he'll wake up with an itch eventually, like something is off.

Perhaps that's why he feels this way right then; there's an untrustworthy feeling of calm. It's not something he ever liked in the past, because it was always followed by some kind of calamity, danger. Yet when he looks ahead, he finds nothing looming on the horizon. The sheets Matt taped to the walls block out the sun from the windows, and the calm only intensifies.

But, Neil is next to him, so it makes sense. He hates that it makes sense, and as steely as his memory is, he can't pinpoint when that happened.

It's fitting, that it would happen in a moment like this. It should also feel like a slap in the face, that with all their planning, all their anticipation, it would happen on a random, lazy afternoon, when the question isn't even in the air. It isn't even on their minds.

"I just think if there was an apocalypse math would come in handy," Neil says in the middle of their faux argument. Andrew won't admit to liking it, but he provokes Neil when he can, pokes and prods because it gets Neil's attention.

Not that Andrew needs Neil's attention...he's bored is all.

Insulting math is a sure fire way to get Neil in his teasing mood, sending them down a rabbit hole. All Andrew had said was that math was dumb, but now they're back on the zombie topic like it's second nature. They've fleshed it out so many times, yet there's never an unlimited amount of questions to be asked.

Last week they'd spent about thirty minutes debating on when survivors would run out of gasoline, and where the best sources would be.

Neil's smile is lazy as he rests his chin on his hand, waiting for Andrew to fire back.

Andrew leans over with sigh, put upon as he circles a random answer on Neil's homework. He doesn't get the problem, but he knows it's the wrong answer. He circles it in pen. "Neil, what did I say about trying to convince me about the pros of calculus?"

_It's not going to happen._

Neil hums thoughtfully, and Andrew knows the striker's memory isn't _that_ bad. "That if I did you'd kill me?"

Neil rests his head on his textbook, work momentarily forgotten, and has the nerve to wink.

Andrew throws the pen at him. "And yet..."

Honestly, even looking at all the numbers makes him want to gag.

Neil flops down onto his back, blowing his bangs out of his face. They need to be cut, Andrew realizes, and resists the urge to tie them back. He doesn't realize he's moving to see Neil's face more clearly until he's rolled over on his side, face above Neil's. It's their usual dance, one Andrew tries so hard to refrain from. A push and pull, so their jagged edges manage to fit together even under this failed fortress. Neil looks up at Andrew with that same cheeky grin. "That's such a _you_ threat though, you won’t do it."

It's statements like that which will make Andrew actually go through with it one of these days.

He leans down with a glare, and the cigarette pendant around his neck hits Neil in the nose.

"Doubting me will be your downfall," Andrew reminds, and he can almost predict the moment Neil is going to bite his lip to suppress his smile. Goddamn Pavlovian response.

"You'd miss me too much," Neil states breezily, grabbing the necklace and fiddling with it. Neil's so confident about it now; Andrew remembers how in the past, he'd refrain from saying anything like that, unsure of how Andrew really felt, because Andrew wouldn't even admit it.

Sometimes he still can't, but the difference is...Neil knows.

Andrew scoffs, grabbing the math textbook Neil is using as a pillow and dangling it above their heads. Neil's head hits the floor and he yelps, eyes trained on his precious work. It's not a far reach, but Andrew's stronger than Neil, and he keeps it out of his grasp easily.

Neil flies up to lunge for it, fast as lightning, and Andrew keeps his shoulder pinned to the floor.

"H-hey!" Neil says through his laughter, and Andrew will give him credit, he tries hard. He just doesn't succeed. After failing to push up against Andrew's hold, Neil goes for the squirmy approach, wriggling enough that Andrew has to actually push some of his weight onto him to keep him down. He looks for any signs of discomfort, of panic; he knows Neil's history with being tied down, unable to run.

But, it's not a day clouded by bad memories. Neil only laughs harder in Andrew's bored face, twisting violently to reach for his shitty, overpriced textbook.

Neil doesn't even take care of the damn thing, the edges are frayed, pages falling out. It's nothing less than he deserves.

But not once does he tell Andrew to stop. Neil snorts, limbs flopping to the floor in a pathetic defeat. He's trying to scowl, but when Andrew is around, Neil's lying skills are null. Useless.

Giggles fade away into light huffs of breath, and Andrew quirks a brow. Neil's usually so stubborn, he wouldn't dare give up. Then again, maybe he's enjoying this.

Neil's eyes crinkle at the edges; for once, Andrew doesn't have to look away from the light in those eyes. Which...is strange. The urge to reject it, to push it away isn't there, not even swimming beneath the surface. It's more common nowadays, yes, but not any less suspicious. Andrew sifts for it, like an anchor, something familiar, and finds nothing. Like years and years of rust wore away the shackle, for the moment.

Neil seems to realize it too; his smile falls slowly, his chest heaving with the exertion.

Panting.

And oh, how predictable Andrew has become. It's not a good thing, he knows, but it's the grave he's chosen to lie in.

Neil's eyes bore into his, and their faces are a lot closer than Andrew realized. At some point, he must've moved. _At some point_ , his body sought Neil out before his mind could catch up.

Isn't that interesting?

Interesting, not taxing. _Alluring_.

He used to hate that word, but never before has it sounded so fitting.

He watches Neil swallow, follows the bob of his adam's apple and the strong line of his jaw. Andrew scoots his hand up, tapping the beauty mark he knows is right behind Neil's ear, and those blue eyes catch fire, burning Andrew from the inside.

The dormant flame, the one that's been building for days, _weeks_ , seems to finally meet kerosene.

He wants to kiss Neil. He wants to do _more_ than kiss Neil.

He wants whatever Neil will give him. He wants to give Neil more than he ever thought he could.

It's a sudden, irresistible _craving_.

Neil's breath hitches, and his hand slides tentatively up Andrew's forearm, like he's dizzy despite lying down. Andrew's hips twitch just from that realization alone, from knowing he can affect Neil at the snap of his finger, trap them away from the rest of the world by pure feeling alone.

"Um..." Neil whispers, at a complete loss for words. The textbook falls from Andrew's hands; he doesn't care what happens to it, and neither does Neil in the moment.

Andrew's hand slides around the back of Neil's neck, cradling it, and the striker's pulse is like a rabbit's.

The only difference is, he's running right to Andrew.

"Um," he repeats, mockingly, and it's the last push Neil needs. He surges up at the same time Andrew crashes forward, their lips meeting for a kiss that sends Andrew's nerves into a frenzy.

It's all over for Neil's homework, after that.

Neil shoves his scratch paper and all his supplies away harshly, making room, and Andrew is on top of him in the next second.

It's not planned, Andrew realizes too late. They didn't plan this. This is not time he scheduled, carved out. Every movement is haphazard, limbs knocking into each other to try and fit right, their bodies never quite close enough. Neil's elbow hits the coffee table nearby at one point, and Andrew swallows his wince. The striker recovers instantly, so desperate for more.

Neil's a live wire, hiking up his own shirt before his train of thought zips somewhere else, and then he's tugging at Andrew's shirt, his belt, all silent pleas which _scream_ at Andrew.

They're saying _'here'_ and _'more'_ and _'give me.'_

For all the times Andrew has to tell Neil to stop fidgeting, now he has no room to.

Andrew breaks off the kiss messily, bumping his nose against Neil's cheek before pressing a firm kiss to his collarbone. He'd think his lips were searing from how Neil's body jumps from it, and Andrew lingers there long enough to feel the vibration from Neil's groan. But he's impatient.

Impatient. That's Neil's thing, not his, but Andrew has no reason to put an end to it.

"Yes, _yes_ ," Neil breathes, as if to reinforce that thought. Andrew kisses down the length of Neil's body; his chest, his abdomen, his hip, all firm and deep like he's trying to keep Neil from floating away.

Neil pulls lightly at Andrew's hair before cradling his face, guiding him back up for a kiss with zero aim. It's alright, there's no quota. No three strikes policy, his brain reminds him, stupidly. Neil huffs a laugh when Andrew kisses the side of Neil's lips on accident before planting one right on him. In fact, he does it twice to make up for it. Twice, three times...four...again...

"T-the door," Neil somehow manages to get out in between his moans, and oh, Andrew forgot.

What a plot twist; _Neil's_ the one thinking ahead.

"Shit," Andrew mutters, glaring at the door and all who might dare to walk through it right then. He's not having a repeat of last time.

He gets up, or tries to. It's surprisingly a challenge with Neil there. Before Andrew can stand, the redhead pulls him down for another kiss, keeping him there. Only spite allows Andrew to actually get up, the desire to prove he's not _that_ weak, even though Neil looks downright devastated when he's left alone on the floor for the .3 seconds it takes Andrew to lock them in.

Idiot.

Andrew not only locks the door, he uses the bolt too. If anyone wants into this dorm, they're going to have to break the damn thing down.

Neil is already waiting for him in the doorway to the bedroom when Andrew turns around. He moved fast, but Andrew can't comment on the eagerness. He hadn't even thought about moving to the bed.

But yes, doing it on the floor would've been a bad idea. Andrew tries not to think too much about how he probably would've continued no problem.

From how he pauses, it must be obvious. Neil quirks a brow, and one day Andrew's going to tell him to stop adopting his mannerisms without permission. "You can do me against other surfaces later."

Andrew doesn't dignify that with a response, but he takes it as the promise it is.

And, because Neil is the worst, he reaches out a hand for Andrew to take, knowing there's no other decision for him. No, there's no other decision he _wants_ to make. Neil doesn't care what they do, as long as it's with Andrew.

The striker proves that again and again, and the clouded parts of Andrew always wait for that to shatter. But Neil doesn't expect too much of him; they mess up, they step back, but there's never another direction Andrew wants to walk in.

Nothing would stop him, at this point.

He has Neil in his lap on their bed in the next moment; he doesn't keep track of how it happened. From how Neil is keening, Andrew must've picked him up. _So easy_ , Andrew thinks.

Neil isn't easy about anything but this; Andrew's strong hold, keeping him upright.

He practically melts in Andrew's arms, trying to wriggle closer. Andrew's never felt a good weight on him before Neil came into his life. It's addictive almost, the light pressure, the knowledge Neil will move away as soon as he needs to.

Sometimes, when Andrew really isn't in control of his thoughts, he thinks about shackling Neil to him, so they're both tied together. It's a stupid, selfish thought, and unnecessary too.

Doomed, he thinks. He should stop...he...

Neil's hands find Andrew's neck, because of course they do, and Andrew lets himself sigh into Neil's lips.

No, why the hell would he stop?

Neil eats up every noise Andrew gives him, a concession which is becoming more frequent, and the striker's hips start to roll slowly. Encouraging.

Andrew growls into the kiss, cupping the front of Neil's jeans to feel him twitch, hard for Andrew already. Neil breaks the kiss and throws his head back; possessively, Andrew wonders how many people on campus would kill to see Neil like this. And they never will.

Andrew pulls off Neil's shirt hastily, and the striker's hands are back on his neck, never satisfied. Andrew feels the chain around his neck move from Neil playing with it, twisting it around his lithe fingers as he strokes Andrew's skin. In an instant, Andrew has a moment of clarity.

 _'Get me one,'_ Neil had said. Andrew just might be able to now.

He pushes the thought away to reevaluate later when he's not trying to make Neil look spotted.

The hickies from a few days before aren't exactly faded, but Andrew makes them fresh anyways. That one guy from Katelyn's class has been staring at Neil again, and well, if Andrew's jacket isn't enough to relay the message...

" _Ohh_ ," Neil sighs when Andrew leaves another bruise on his collarbone, licking the sensitive skin gently.

This will have to do.

Andrew doesn't even realize he's taking his time until he's not. Neil's impatience reaches its limit, the lust in his eyes threatening to roll Andrew onto his back. It happened once before, Neil riding Andrew, clothes on.

It's something they'll have to explore again.

But, Andrew reads the room. He plops Neil off his lap and onto the bed, standing to rid himself of his shirt before moving to his jeans. This part is always a little slower; Neil has seen all of him, they've made out naked, showered together frequently, but it's still overwhelming for the first beat.

Neil's gaze is hungry though, jeans messily pulled down to his own thighs, right where the material has a hard time moving. The hesitation is wiped clean from the stare, but more so the fact Andrew wants his hands to be on Neil _now_.

He kicks aside his pants and underwear and has to jerk Neil's chin up to get him focused back on his face and not his cock. Neil glares, like he can sense the smirk behind Andrew's mask.

_It'll be inside you soon, quit it._

Neil's clothes join his quickly on the floor. Andrew will deal with it later, maybe.

Neil slides down onto his back, and Andrew fits right against him, their cocks brushing on Neil's stomach.

"Fuck," Andrew grits out, and Neil shivers. Andrew strokes Neil firmly, from base to tip, smearing the precum wherever he can. He likes Neil like this, messy and unrestrained, so... "Good..."

_So good for me._

Neil's eyes snap up to Andrew's, drunk on the small praise, ready for more, ready to do whatever it takes to _get_ more. Neil's hands come up to grip Andrew's forearms, and for the first time in all their tries, the feeling of the fabric annoys Andrew.

He doesn't want them there. He wants the armbands gone. Off.

As if waiting for himself to rethink that, he stares at where Neil's hands are clenched in the fabric, trying to find the panic, the resistance.

"Andrew?" Neil whispers after the silence goes on too long, fingers uncurling. One step ahead, if he has to be. Technically he is, but for different reasons than usual.

Andrew peels his armbands off, setting them on the floor, scars on full display. Ugly, ruined things. A sign of his struggle, survival.

Things Neil understands all too well.

The redhead doesn't so much as flinch; eyes softening into something Andrew doesn't see from him any other time. Andrew has trusted him with this before, on the rare occasion, but Neil still treats it like a gift each time.

"I told you not to look at me like that," Andrew reminds, uselessly. The words ride the sound of their harsh breathing, pulled apart and drowned out like nothing.

Real, true nothing.

Not...

"I always look at you like this," Neil says, and he probably means it to be mocking. It doesn't carry.

"Can I?" Neil asks, but Andrew is already guiding Neil by the back of his neck, bringing his lips to kiss the scars firmly. Andrew doesn't move while he does; Neil is careful about it, never grazing his teeth or pressing too hard, but it's not enough to overwrite the bad memories completely.

It's a salve, at most, but that's more than Andrew had before.

Neil's fingers glide over the raised skin, his scarred forearms meeting Andrew's own. They are a pair, aren't they? Andrew doesn't believe people deserve anything, good or bad. There is simply reality.

Yet...knowing this is his...

"Neil," he says after a while, and Neil pulls back instantly, sighing. Andrew's fingers are kneading the back of his neck, just how Neil likes. He's run away from reality for so long, they both have. Now they're so deep in it, they can't leave.

So, Andrew will take all the parts of reality he never claimed before.

Andrew reaches over to fiddle with his bedside drawer, pulling out one of the foil packets. The striker in his arms jumps, hips twitching, and Andrew never feels like laughing but _that_ look... Neil is ridiculous.

The redhead's eyes home in on the condom, right when Andrew speaks. He sounds breathless. "I need an answer still."

It's what matters most, even with Neil spread out naked beneath him, he needs it. Neil's stare slides over to Andrew, and it's unfair. Andrew has to close his eyes; a small sliver of panic runs through him, finally.

But it's not about sharing this, it's not about being exposed. It's a weird impulse to shield Neil away from everything, so nothing bad can ever happen to him again.

So nothing can take him away.

Because, how is Andrew supposed to move on from this? It's not a path he's let his mind go down, but he will at some point. Contingencies, back-up plans, to prepare for a day where Neil may be gone.

All plans that will fall devastatingly short.

"Yes," Neil whispers, and Andrew opens his eyes to see that smug smile, bringing him back to the moment like his crisis is null. Like Neil will never leave, and Andrew is a fool to think he'd be rid of him so easily. "Let's see what all the fuss is about."

Andrew does huff then, something akin to a laugh, and Neil's eyes _brighten_.

"I don't expect it to be any good," he says against Neil's lips, claiming them as he tears open the condom.

He feels Neil nod, pressed so close. The heat is back, the desperation, and Andrew's hips buck forward involuntarily at Neil's voice. "Mhm, probably terrible."

"Awful."

"We'll need a lot of practice..."

"Shut up Neil." Andrew slides the condom on and uncaps the lube. It should be quick now, he'll be buried inside Neil soon, especially because--

Neil spreads his legs, licking his lips at the sight of Andrew's cock between them. "I'm probably already stretched since...we--"

Andrew swipes his slick fingers against Neil's entrance, feels it already clench around _nothing_. Neil shudders in relief, humming from the promise of it. Andrew shakes his head. "We? You mean _you_ always want to ride my fingers any chance you get."

He doesn't give Neil the chance to glare; he presses two fingers in, and Neil's body takes him so well, so smoothly. He avoids his prostate, if he even takes them there then Neil will beg for Andrew to just make him come like that, blissed out with nothing else on his mind. Not even exy.

"Don't you...always me--- _oh shit_ right there," Neil sighs, laughing because he doesn't know what else to do. Andrew wonders how intensely he feels it; he watches Neil's toes curl, his legs trying to find purchase. Andrew dutifully pins them to his side, knowing they'll eventually move.

Neil's legs are strong; last time, when they weren't careful, he kicked one out mid orgasm and broke the lamp by the couch.

They never told Nicky what happened to it.

"I will if it's the truth," Andrew says, and scissors Neil with three fingers just enough to ease his own mind. Not even Neil pushing back on him can calm the distress entirely. Andrew knows the feeling of his cock stretching Neil open will still be new, uncomfortable, but he'll be slow.

He won't get ahead of himself.

"It feels good," Neil states, surprisingly firm despite how wrecked he looks. There's a dreamy quality to his eyes, but the tone gets his attention. This is Neil, leaving no room for argument. "Andrew, I mean it. It all feels so good with you."

 _'Only you,'_ Neil had said, kicking his stupid legs back and forth all those months ago, like being with Andrew made him...happy. After so many things should've wiped that feeling out, torn it to shreds with blades like Neil's skin.

But no. Neil looks at him this way still, finds room to feel more and pushes Andrew to feel it too.

Neil will only ever share this with Andrew. As much as Andrew tries not to believe that deep down, because these things will eventually end in disappointment, it's slowly starting to carry the weight of a fact. A truth.

"You're staring," Neil says lightly, playful, and he's right.

Andrew glares at him, a silent admonition. _Don't get too full of yourself._

"I'm waiting for something to be wrong," Andrew says, unable to help himself. It's the truth, part of it. He won't tell Neil all the unasked for revelations he's having, but that's the gist isn't it? He's waiting for this to be wrong, knowing it's impossible.

And instead of being shocked or offended, Neil just nods, kissing Andrew slow and deep. When he pulls away, the crinkle at the corner of his eyes is back. Andrew doesn't hope for much, but he hopes that stays. That way when Neil is old, he'll have wrinkles. It will be proof that Neil was able to _grow_ old.

"And is there something wrong?" Neil asks, hand curving to the small of Andrew's back and never lower.

"No," Andrew answers, simply, honestly.

There's really not.

"Then get in me," Neil demands, not harshly, but laced with a wildness Andrew doesn't want to tame. He wants Neil to always be like this, desperate for his cock.

Andrew can't refuse.

He slicks himself up, pushes the tip against Neil's hole, and locks eyes with the striker. He wants to catalogue every moment of this. That way, he'll remember Neil when he can't remember anything else. He hopes that day comes.

With a stuttering breath, he pushes in. It's gradual, but not slow enough to delay things. That's what he _wants_ to do, but he prioritizes what's better for Neil.

Already, Neil is trembling, panting cut off as he takes in the feeling of Andrew halfway deep in him.

" _Breathe_ ," Andrew snaps, grabbing the back of Neil's neck and squeezing. " _Hey_."

"I'm okay," Neil says, and it's shaky, breathy. His head lolls to the side, and there's a new smile on his face. It's no less stupid, but it sets Andrew's nerves on fire. He has to hold the sheets in the death grip to keep from thrusting forward, especially when Neil says--"I'm _way_ more than okay."

Neil's expression is what Andrew would define as cloud nine, and thank fuck he knows Neil well enough to pin his hips down in the next second, because Neil tries to push himself all the way down on Andrew's cock.

Andrew doesn't care how much they've been messing around, Neil's trying to hurt himself doing that.

Or kill Andrew.

The movement makes him tremble, but he _won't_ move, refuses to. Neil whines in protest, and Andrew understands the pause is mostly for himself to catch up with this new feeling. Neil's gonna have to deal with it.

It's _Neil's_ fault anyways; Andrew brings the back of his hand to his mouth, reining in all of his urges. It's so fucking _tight_ , the heat is unbearable in a way Andrew's never felt before. It's a separate kind of pleasure, all consuming, and paired with the knowledge it's _Neil_ just threatens to send him over the edge.

He's inside of Neil, Neil's _first_ , and Neil's body language is practically begging to be fucked. Neil's legs wrap around him, coaxing him, and _dammit_ Andrew will not be the first to come here.

He risks looking down for the next part; Andrew takes a deep breath and pushes forward until his balls press flush against Neil's backside, and he chokes on the groan he tries to keep in. Neil's hole twitches around him, slick with lube and tinted pink. Andrew can't resist, he reaches down to trace the stretched rim, feeling Neil's squirm from it.

Andrew's not sure what prompted it, maybe pure disbelief. They're connected, Neil feels _good_. Neil--

"Oh my god, that's awesome," Neil says with a laugh, nearly on the edge of disbelief himself.

Andrew can't stand him. "Your dirty talk needs work," he says with a glare, and tries not to click his tongue from how strained he sounds. That perfect control, reservation...gone.

"I'm just being honest," Neil huffs, rolling his hips as best he can when Andrew still has them in a death grip.

_Quit it._

All the little movements, the slightest shift...Andrew feels it so much, down his spine and through his legs. It should be terrifying, but there's an eagerness there instead.

"That's rare." Andrew's voice breaks off a bit at the end, barely detectable, but Neil moans shamelessly from it. He could probably get off just from Andrew's reactions alone.

" _F-fuck_ ," Neil sighs out, extra emphasis on the 'k' which sends Andrew's brain further into a spiral. He tries not to tremble when Neil's hands paw at his own abdomen, like he can't take the feeling, how intoxicating it is. "I'm going to come so fast, I'm sor--"

Neil never learned how to keep his apologies to himself.

And that's enough to make Andrew move; or so he tells himself, really he might just explode if he doesn't. He bucks forward gently, or as gentle as someone like him can manage, testing the waters.

That time, he groans, no chance of hiding it. It's swallowed up by Neil's gasp, and one of Andrew's hands buries itself on Neil's shoulder, grounding them both. The warmth...it's incredible.

"Idiot," Andrew says, and rolls his hips again. It's harder this time, channeling parts of his frustration. His balls slap against Neil's ass, loud in the small dorm room, and they both shiver. "Don't apologize."

_Don't ever apologize when it's like this._

And to think, Andrew's pretty sure this must _suck_ when put on the spectrum of good sex. He can't get enough.

"More Andrew, _more_ ," Neil breathes out, and Andrew starts to thrust in earnest. He'll listen to Neil, just this once.

The room quickly heats up; Andrew's body refuses to go more than a few seconds before swallowing Neil's moans in a searing kiss again and again. Their breath mixes, hot and frantic in the space between them. There isn't much. Neil's lips are like water, or maybe Andrew just needs to do this or he'll risk being just as loud as his boyfriend.

Andrew's thrusts are like a lot of things he does; precise, unrelenting. He's a fast learner too, maybe more so than Neil. He catalogues every yelp and moan that leaves Neil's mouth, familiarizes himself with what gets every specific little reaction.

If he presses down on Neil's stomach mid thrust, he gets a screaming 'yes,' if he pauses a little too much he gets a long and drawn out whine. Andrew doesn't usually study, but in this case he does so without complaint. In less than two minutes, he's made Neil work up a sweat, and Andrew's glad he has this now, a workout Neil would be all too happy to do. Andrew watches Neil's abdomen flex, and wants to lick every ridge of muscle.

There's almost too much to do and not enough time, the heat begins to coil in Andrew's groin, a warning. He...doesn't want it to be over.

"Holy shit, fuck _yes_ , like that," Neil babbles, as harsh and cutting as his personality. Andrew takes all of it, unafraid of being sliced open. The enthusiastic consent keeps Andrew's demons at bay, but he knows they're not for his benefit.

Neil just can't keep his mouth fucking shut.

He pins down one of Neil's thighs to adjust the angle, making his skin wet with lube. Every push is slower, but powerful. It might just be that he can't get enough of being as deep as he can, seeing Neil's legs curl from how well he's being stretched.

Andrew bites off another moan before it can fully form, but Neil catches it with that same brightness in his eyes, like he has any room to talk when he's falling apart on Andrew's cock.

"You like it," the striker accuses, and Andrew hates having to repeat himself: _stop stating the obvious._

"Do I?" Andrew responds, petulantly, and Neil smirks before clenching around Andrew's cock when he pushes in as deep as he can go. The groan he lets out has Neil's pupils eating up the remaining sliver of blue. Darkness, a void, but Andrew has never felt more alive staring into them.

"You're the worst," Andrew growls, snapping his hips to make Neil yelp. _See, right there, that's what I mean._ "So mouthy."

"Get me to shut up," Neil says with a laugh, like he can't wait.

Andrew freezes, looks up at Neil to make sure he heard right. And yes, Neil is staring right at him, challenging and soft at once. He caught it, he caught it no matter how Andrew tried to hide it.

The slowness, the oh so subtle way he held himself back.

Even now, even like this.

"Fuck me Andrew," Neil begs, hands fisting in the sheets by his head. "You're supposed to fuck me until it's all I can think about."

Andrew hears the words buried beneath: ' _I can take all of you_.' There's provocation too, an understanding that Andrew never goes back on his word.

This time, he's glad for it.

He leans down to bite at Neil's ear lightly, pushing himself in deeper before rocking forward. And, because Andrew is so used to being the conductor of Neil's body, he kisses him right when his mouth falls open. Exactly on cue.

"Tell me how it feels," Andrew says as he pistons forward, so close, too close. He doesn't care how gone he sounds, how out of breath and delirious. He needs to hear it.

Neil grunts after a particularly rough thrust. "I...it's--"

Andrew's movements are frenzied, not as precise as before, but this time he's allowing himself something. He's chasing his own end, without guilt, the edges of his vision already starting to white out from the heightening pleasure. Selfish, but Neil's wrecked moan is far from displeased.

"No words?" Andrew mocks. "You must like it."

Neil's legs wrap tight around his back, pushing him closer, and Neil's hands come up to push Andrew's sweaty bangs out of the way. "So deep, c'mon Andrew..."

And he does c'mon. His thighs meet Neil's in rapid succession, his pace spiking. Neil's ass, as much as Andrew hates it, is perfect and soft. It cushions every thrust, Andrew can feel it squeeze and tighten.

It's almost a shame he can't see Neil from the back...one day.

" _Shit_ ," Neil grabs his own hair, throwing his head back as he leans up on his elbows, trying to meet every one of Andrew's movements. There's no finesse; it is their first time, truly. They meet out of sync more often than not, but it's hectic, drenched in want. "Yes, yes, _yes_."

It's more addictive than smoke, than sugar.

"Come for me Neil," Andrew commands, grip tight on the back of Neil's neck, the pressure too much, unbelievable. He finally grabs Neil's cock, leaking obscenely between them and swollen at the tip. He pumps him mercilessly, firm, the way Neil likes it. "Let me feel it."

He wants every aspect of this burned into his memory, forever. As much as his eyes want to flutter shut, to bask in his orgasm, he wants to see Neil come undone.

He does, and Andrew doesn't assign the term 'beautiful' to anything. It's throwaway, and meaningless. But...Neil is a sight.

The striker's orgasm hits him like a speeding train; his hips stutter, and the sound he makes probably hurts his throat with how it tears through the air. Andrew watches, enraptured, as Neil turns over, body involuntarily twitching and curling in on itself. His stomach is a mess. Neil's cum lands high, dripping on his torso, and it's a shame Andrew has no time to lick it up in the moment.

Neil's thighs begin to shake from the intensity of his orgasm; he's not sure he's ever seen Neil come so hard. Certainly not enough for this, for his legs to tremble like he forgot how to move them; Andrew pins Neil's legs down, and Neil doesn't panic. He knows it's Andrew, and besides, he's too far gone. Andrew basks in the vibrations he can feel, uncontrolled, _unrestrained_.

And then, _then_ Neil has the nerve to smile, completely blissed out of his _mind_.

It undoes him.

He thrusts forward twice more; they're stuttering, shaky movements, and then he's spilling into the condom. Andrew buries his moan in Neil's neck, muffled but still louder than he's ever allowed in the past.

'All the fuss' Neil had said. Andrew hates agreeing with others, but...he understands. He shares this with Neil often, coming apart down Neil's throat or in his hand, but this orgasm is a tidal wave. It's immensely satisfying, knowing he's inside Neil when it happens, that they're as connected as they can be. Andrew rocks forward over and over again, milking the feeling for all it's worth until he's too sensitive to move.

His stomach jumps, like he was dropped from one of those terrible amusement park rides, except he thinks this feeling is one he'd chase again.

Neil's body melts beneath him, muscles relaxing with a pleased hum. It's only then Andrew is aware of how loud their breathing is, filling the room. He wonders how it can all be contained. Space is a funny thing. He always required too much of it, an excess.

In fact right then, he anticipates the feeling. He's coming down, nerves simmering with the lingering heat, and his brain is foggy. Any moment now, he will need to break this quiet calm. He clings to it, until he can't.

He slides out of Neil with a shiver, tying off the condom and throwing it in the nearby bin. Neil whimpers from the separation, and Andrew's heartbeat jolts.

He's getting predictable, but he can't take his eyes off Neil. Neil, who is barely starting to blink away the post-orgasm haze in his mind. Andrew can track it, the moment Neil _sees_ Andrew, and understands that it's over.

His legs are still--

"Shaking," Andrew comments, his hand gliding over Neil's inner thigh. The vibrations answer back, and Neil sighs from the touch. Andrew's heart reacts _again_ , and it's familiar. He knows he's felt this before...

A heat, one that won't go away. Neil sits up, and Andrew scoots forward, unwilling to let Neil go too far from him. Like he's still craving, still--

"Yeah..." Neil whispers, hand resting on top of Andrew's. The redhead laughs at how his own body trembles, but there's a flash of insecurity in those dark eyes.

A consequence of Neil's lack of inexperience, he sometimes doesn't know if his reactions are normal, acceptable. Like Andrew won't be replaying this in his head for days, _weeks_.

"That's new," Andrew says, and he feels so stupid about it. He should be asking if Neil is okay, checking him over for injuries, making sure that haze in his eyes isn't some horrible predecessor to something _else_ , because surely Andrew went too far, and--

"Can't...can't help it," Neil says with a laugh, and that damn _smile_. Andrew's muscles twitch, his mind halting in its initial terror. Neil looks...more than okay. He looks how Andrew feels, and it startles him to realize what that means.

Because Andrew feels...good.

Andrew freezes from that one, abysmal thing. He _feels_ good. Over a year ago, it would've been a miracle to feel at all.

"It won't stop," Neil fills the silence, when Andrew is quiet for too long, eyes boring into Neil's face. The striker ducks his head, almost _shyly_ , a word Andrew would never associate with him in a million years.

Neil's only shy when he's on the cusp of ruining someone's life for fun. The thought makes Andrew's entire being _jump_.

And that calmness isn't _just_ calmness, it's the beginning of desire and yearning, rushing back with the promise of intensity. It's deja vu, this singing of his nerves. Andrew's not sure why; he expected a long talk, maybe a panic, or the itch to call Bee once all this actually happened.

Instead, he's left with this. Nothing behind it, nothing waiting in the shadows. He's sure there will be, in the future.

But his mind, in a rare fucking concession, gave him this.

"Then don't stop," Andrew nearly demands, because right then, Neil can't possibly show him _enough_.

Neil perks up, head lifting, performing the same search Andrew is so familiar with. He travels the lengths and lines of Andrew's face, just looking. Someday, Andrew will be okay enough to ask what Neil sees.

Whatever he finds, it makes him grin, a thing which Andrew will always hate him for. "Mm, okay."

Neil's legs wrap around him slowly, loosely, as if to keep Andrew nestled there. It gives Andrew the chance to break away, to retreat, and Neil won't take offense.

But the intent is clear; he wants Andrew there, wants Andrew close.

That same clinginess takes root in Andrew's veins, already missing the heat of Neil's body.

He wades through the waters of his head, one last time, because surely that can't be right. He's been asking that a lot lately, telling himself things can't be right when all evidence shows they are.

"Do you need to go?" Neil asks, echoing the question burning in Andrew's head. Does he?

The itch is back, but it's not bad, it's not wary. It's telling him to get closer.

When too many seconds pass without Andrew moving, Neil starts to create the space for him, to back away. Andrew grabs his ankle so fast Neil jumps, and he yanks him forward, showing off. Soon, Neil is flush against Andrew again. It's right, it pushes all the correct buttons inside him. When Neil feels the beginnings of Andrew's desire, semi-hard and leaking against his body, his eyes widen.

But well, Andrew did always like to give him a verbal answer.

Lazily, he tilts his head, regarding Neil in all his glory. Disheveled hair, drying cum on his chest, open and ready to take Andrew as many times as they both want. No, no reason to leave at all. Many reasons to stay.

"I don't think I'm done with you yet," Andrew deadpans, but he doesn't mean it. Neil will know he doesn't. They can end it here, if they need to. He watches Neil process the words, the slow blink. Neil's damn eyelashes are so long, even the dumbfounded stare seems sultry.

If there is a creator, Neil was made just to fuck with Andrew, knowing Andrew will do nothing to stop him.

Neil's confusion bursts into joy, blush high on his scarred cheekbones, and when he lunges forward into Andrew's arms, Andrew is all too ready to catch him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! That was all for the smut so *sigh* I've endured and it was (hopefully) worth it! I'm actually super stoked for the epilogue bc the scene is the whole reason for this fic in the first place (Im a mess) jknfdsjk but ahhh I love these two so much, thanks again for reading my self-indulgent fic! I just want them to be happy ok *cries*
> 
> Make sure to check the art out I got done for the beginning (cockblock haha) scene [here!](https://twitter.com/youseimanami/status/1256662956424810497?s=20)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh it's time!! I never thought this fic would ever reach an end when I was outlining it months ago, I wanted to write it but didn't think I'd sit down and actually do it. To be here at the epilogue after all the support I've received is honestly amazing, and I can't thank all of you enough for sticking through every update with me! And to those of you who were waiting for this to be completed, hello! <3 
> 
> This fic is extremely important to me, as are all my AFTG works. I love the characters so much, it's a lot of fun to explore their mindsets and relationships while still being wacky about it every now and again haha. Ultimately, this is just another self-indulgent work in my series, but I'm no less proud of it. I hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Thank you to [EmeraldWaves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldWaves/pseuds/EmeraldWaves) for reading this over for me!

Neil misses another pass. It's the fifth time, a new and pathetic record for the stubborn striker. It's so unlike him, but Andrew's blood runs hot from something that's not anger...not worry.

Neil would normally be beside himself, huffing and fuming from the endless mistakes he's making, even at a practice. He's not though.

Andrew watches as the ball rebounds off the plexiglass and rolls along the court, no one making a move to stop it. Not even Kevin, though Andrew will blame that on the steam coming out of his ears. He hasn't snapped yet.

This time when Neil misses, there's a noticeable tension. Dan and Matt shoot each other concerned looks while the others glance at Neil in ways they think are subtle.

They're not, but Neil is oblivious. Andrew's gaze lingers on the flushed skin of his cheeks, the little jump in every step he takes. Troublesome.

The team continues to stare, searching for proof of panic or fear from Neil, maybe rifling through the dates of the week for any bad anniversaries or triggering memories. But they will find none, Andrew knows. And even so...

Neil is smiling like an absolute _idiot_.

Andrew's stomach swoops involuntarily, and he tightens his grip around his own racquet. If Neil doesn't stop prancing around then Andrew will have to make a repeat of their first meeting.

Either Neil's unaware of his piss poor playing or he doesn't care. Neither does Andrew, not when Neil keeps turning to look at him like that. There's a skip in Neil's step, a recognizable giddiness as he runs to and fro without direction. He simply has the energy, the mindlessness to do it. The redhead turns around and moves to another random spot on the court, looking up at Andrew every few seconds and beaming. Andrew knows his expression betrays nothing, but he wonders if Neil can tell there's something...light, _airy_ , about him.

He feels untethered to the ground, and it's unsettling for someone who hates falling so much. Yet, Andrew can't find it in himself to actually be uncomfortable.

He tracks his eyes up and down Neil's frame, watching him rock on the balls of his feet, fidgety...

There's a noticeable limp, one Neil isn't trying at all to hide. Still, Neil is lively. When Andrew locks gazes with him, there's nothing but excitement and something too soft for Andrew to name, a layer of vulnerability that sends the helium inside him spiking. Andrew almost crouches, to avoid floating away.

Andrew knows why the limp is there. After all, it's his doing, but not his fault. It doesn't feel like something guilt ridden, when Neil can't stop staring at him like he just wants to be cocooned up with Andrew in the nearest bed.

Of course, the horrible thought had tried to manifest. He saw Neil limping the morning after they went all the way, muscles worked raw from too many overzealous rounds. Andrew had encouraged his own pleasure for once, and he wondered if that meant he'd taken things too far. He'd begun to worry about if he'd still managed to cause Neil pain, agony. The one thing he'd been so desperate to avoid.

But then he remembered Neil's equal encouragement, the push of his hips with every one of Andrew's thrusts. Wanted, welcomed. The horrible thought that Andrew had somehow hurt Neil by chasing his own desire over and over had no chance to survive in the face of Neil's earnestness, the eagerness. When Neil stretched out his sore muscles the next day, the wince hadn't been one of pain, but satisfaction.

A good ache. Andrew has to squint at the choice of words, but there's no other way to describe it.

Andrew never thought that would be possible, that he could give someone that. Yet here Neil is, jogging around despite the soreness, relishing in it. Neil looks...happy.

Andrew shivers, thinking of the nail marks on his back that itch deliciously, the burn of his calves. The handprints and sensory memories don't make him cringe or grimace, they are not burdens. He doesn't feel used, or degraded, and Neil doesn't look like he does either.

It is the exact opposite of how Andrew thought he could feel after something like that, after giving, _taking_.

As if yearning for Andrew's gaze again, Neil snaps his head over to him while Dan attempts to give another run down of the next play. Neil's clearly not listening. Andrew watches him put weight on his better leg, and then Neil waves.

He fucking _waves_ , and it's so stupid, so pitiful. Neil's smile is so giddy, it twists Andrew up inside. He can't begin to place what all those emotions are, only that he never thought they'd be there.

Neil confounds Andrew, day by day, minute by minute.

Andrew waves back, a lazy, almost mocking thing, but it has a powerful result anyways. He gets to watch Neil's eyes brighten considerably while he goes to wipe his bangs out of his face. Andrew's glad he'd ditched the helmet for a moment.

Andrew's muscles twitch. It's just a wave, yet Neil acts like it's the highlight of his day. Andrew's attention. As if he doesn't always have it in some way or another.

As if Andrew hasn't been staring at Neil _just_ as much all day long. That's the big admission, evidence Andrew doesn't want to acknowledge. Despite his attempts to deny the urge, to squash it, Andrew had been powerless in this. Neil's presence is so apparent to him today, like the only spot of color on a black and white canvas. Andrew nearly rocks forward on the balls of his own feet, but he stops himself.

He draws the line at that, at allowing his body to give away how badly it wants to be next to Neil. How badly it yearns to leave practice with Neil in tow.

Andrew's not even sure why he changed out, but the thought of not being in close proximity to Neil had been something he couldn't fight.

Pathetic. But he followed his instincts.

Realistically, Andrew knows what this extra strong magnetic pull between them is. He and Neil are typically aware of each other, in sync, but not to this degree of distraction.

Andrew would hate to admit being like anyone else, but he knows clinginess isn't exactly abnormal after having sex for the first time. People go nuts with it, glued at the hip, ready for more, wanting to touch _all the time_ no matter how small the gesture.

And for once, Andrew is no different. The only separation from other mindless people is that he knows the reality of this. This feeling, so strong now because of the novelty of it, will fade. He and Neil will go back to normal after they've gotten used to this new layer of their intimacy. Their levels of desire will even out; they won't go away, but they won't be this overwhelming, this much of a _need_.

And regardless of that knowledge, Andrew can't find an ounce of disappointment. How is that? He should grimace, vindicated in his belief that all things end. He should walk away, appeased with this proof that all feelings are fleeting.

But, he doesn't, because he doesn't feel that way at all. To acknowledge that he feels _good_ in any way is another thing to pick apart, but doesn't surprise him on a day like this. And besides he knows the answer to his main question.

The feelings itself might be fleeting, but what will be left after it is gone...isn't anything bad. He's not bored with what's underneath all this.

He's not bored with Neil, not done with him, in any form.

Should he be concerned about this weakness, this softness? He's not sure. He doesn't care in the moment. Because even when this new excitement fades, when the 'honeymoon phase' of their first time dissolves, there will still be Neil.

Neil, who is all bad attitude, infuriating grins, and stubbornness. He will still look at Andrew in that way Andrew can't handle, he'll still be by his side with an understanding Andrew never thought he'd find from anyone. Neil, who never had to try to keep Andrew's interest anyways.

Andrew once told Neil he would get bored of him eventually, but he wonders at what point he'll have to start classifying that statement as an _untruth_. Not a lie, because Andrew does not lie, but something in need of revision. The silver bracelet in his pocket weighs heavy, and Andrew hopes Neil will understand the singular, boring charm on it.

A shackle, tying the plain silver chain together.

Andrew's need to feel hatred for the gesture, for Neil in general, used to be easy to summon. And now...

Neil's eyes fly to him again, and yup, there it is. Neil bites his lip, and Andrew leans forward, eyes on fire.

Now, he's gone too far to turn back. He's found Neil, and has been found in the process, whether he likes it or not.

He will have to tell Bee later next week, because he's sure she'll take some ridiculous joy in the admission: he's starting not to mind it.

Ah, _to be known_ , indeed.

A shot flies past him, lighting up the goal. It's swift, merciless. Andrew hadn't even moved to stop it, hadn't been aware of it at all. The buzzer rings, obnoxious and deafening across the court. Even Neil freezes.

Oh. This'll be annoying.

Andrew barely has time to take it all in before Kevin is stalking over to him, and Dan sighs behind him, calling their little group into a huddle by the goal. They leave some confused freshman (and a very smug Renee) in their wake, but they just seem happy to have a break from Kevin's ruthlessness.

Allison is the only one who looks delighted instead of confused, and Andrew refuses to give her more ammo for the countless bets she has.

Kevin's helmet hits the court from how frustrated he is when he rips it off, eyes burning into Andrew's blank expression. Andrew realizes he has to pry his eyes from seeking out Neil again.

Oh Kevin, always interfering with his agenda.

And, because Andrew is an asshole and has already been caught, he takes a page from Neil's book. "Would you look at that Kevin. I missed."

Nicky and Matt both inhale sharply while Neil smirks, and Kevin finally snaps.

His accusatory hand flies out to point at Neil, and then at Andrew. "What the _fuck_ is wrong with you two?"

Kevin isn't all hopeless, because he knows Andrew won't answer. He stares at Neil expectantly, but Neil's still looking right at Andrew, probably just relieved they're a lot closer now.

Andrew would just have to take a few steps to touch him...

"Nothin," Neil says with a shrug, and it's uncharacteristically followed by a small laugh. It's a near giggle, one usually reserved for Andrew in rare moments, and Andrew almost lets a glare slip at the thought of the others hearing it. He scolds himself for being that stupid, as brainless as Neil.

Aaron is the only one who's caught on to their weird mood, and Andrew refuses to look at his twin when he speaks. "I don't want to know."

Allison's smile is shark-like. "I _definitely_ want to know."

Neil is squirming again, though not because of the conversation. Andrew, because he's not as smart as he thinks, accidentally let his gaze fall to Neil's neck.

"Ah relax Kevin, practice is almost over anyways," Nicky says, throwing up his hands. "It's Friday! Let them be lazy."

Kevin spins on him, and Nicky mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'goddammit.' "What does that have to do with anything?" Kevin seethes, whipping his head to Neil. It takes a second to get Neil to look at him. "Neil, might I remind you we have a--"

"A game next week, mhm," Neil answers flippantly, twisting in place before looking back at Andrew. If Andrew cared to, he'd be smirking. "Are we going to Columbia this weekend?"

It's a question entirely for Andrew, the underlying implication being that they'll have their own room if they do, but the chorus follows.

"I'm staying with Katelyn," Aaron answers, with a small tint to his cheeks. Predictable, though can Andrew talk right then?

Nicky slumps over on the ground, as if he's actually been putting in real work during practice. "Hells yeah, I need a drink."

Kevin doesn't take well to being ignored, what a shock.

"We need to _practice,_ Neil," he tries again, and that finally gets Neil to face him fully, expression unamused.

"I can handle it Kevin, I don't have any other choice but to play well," Neil jokes morbidly. Andrew's pretty sure he's the only one who appreciates it, but it's inaccurate. Nothing is taking Neil away from him again. The team winces at the callousness, but Neil plows on unperturbed and with an air of arrogance. "Which I always do."

Kevin looks like he doesn't know whether to strangle Neil or appreciate the confidence. It's so Kevin-like it makes Andrew want to roll his eyes.

But no, it's still all Neil. It's all instigation and the need to rile people up. Andrew really wants practice to be over.

"You heard him," Andrew says, and even Neil blinks in surprise. Andrew doesn't normally compliment Neil openly, it's too much affection for him to share or admit to. Yet, the implication is clear. It's the closest Neil will get to praise right then, and he looks ecstatic about it.

Andrew cannot stand it.

Matt and Dan snort off to the side; they didn't used to be so supportive of Neil's relationship with Andrew, but lately they seem to delight in what they call their 'bizarre flirting.'

Kevin stares at Andrew long and hard, as if that'll make him produce words in Kevin's favor. Andrew meets the gaze with some difficulty, but only because Neil is radiating 'I'm over here' energy so unabashedly.

Kevin inhales sharply, grabbing his helmet off the ground like someone would slam the door after a fight.

"Just block the damn goal," Kevin orders, and Andrew's not sure he will. He'll try not to be so unaware the next time though, if only to save him from this headache. Kevin points his racquet at his fellow striker in warning. " _Neil_ \--"

"Right, gotcha," Neil says, waving him off. Kevin storms away, and Matt actually does laugh then as he follows, the team spreading out. Allison huffs from the lack of answers, but leaves them be. She's smarter than she looks too.

However, Neil doesn't move. He rocks in front of Andrew's goal, and Andrew thinks he's actually standing closer than he was a few seconds ago.

Neil smiles that stupid smile, soft at the edges and expectant. He has to know Andrew won't kiss him here, but...Andrew wants to.

To want, to want, _to want_.

The same mantra from before isn't as heavy as it once was. The swarm in his head is gone, but the implications are not.

"Junkie," Andrew warns, because if Neil doesn't get back into place Kevin will really bitch them out and they'll never get to Columbia.

"That's me," Neil answers with a dangerous glint. They both know they're not talking about exy.

" _Go_ ," Andrew warns, pushing his racquet into Neil's chest. He tries not to watch Neil's limp when he stumbles, the satisfaction making the heat in his abdomen swirl.

Neil lets that laugh loose again, and Andrew drinks it up, now that's it's only for his ears.

"Okay," Neil whispers, eyes losing the teasing glint for just a moment. A different feeling takes them over, soft and sure. Andrew meets the gaze this time, unable to look away. He feels seen, and there's no 'but' or need to deny it. It's just…how he feels. Andrew is starting to believe that just sitting in that feeling, without analyzing it, might be alright every now and again. Neil waves again as he walks backwards, only turning when he absolutely has to. "Bye!"

It's unnecessary, and Andrew shakes his head. His face feels hot, but Andrew finds his response comes automatically. "Bye..."

Andrew entertains the idea that he already floated away long ago, and cannot hope to reach the ground again. But it's fine, since the air up here is fairly stable.

Neil jogs around the court some more, missing passes and looking back over at Andrew any chance he gets. Andrew stares right back, with no intention of stopping, and even indulges Neil every now and again with the tilt of his head or concealed expression.

Andrew misses a shot again about ten minutes later, letting the ball fly by his face without even looking at it. Luckily, it's the end of practice, so he can drown out Kevin's protests.

He had a good excuse; he has better things to keep track of than shots at the goal.

Kevin grumbles his displeasure all the way off the court, but Andrew stays where he is, waiting for Neil to jog over like he's been wanting to do since they stepped foot in the stadium.

It'd been the longest practice of Andrew's life, he realizes, and then shakes his head at himself for being so dramatic. Neil smirks at him, like he knows it.

And oh, he probably does.

The sight of Neil coming towards him breaks even Andrew's self-control, and he dares to take a step forward. It feels oddly right, not weak.

He meets Neil halfway, and ignores the sound of Nicky's voice, immediately followed by Aaron's loud retch when his cousin asks:

"Hey Neil, why are you walking so funny?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Not that andreil would give any details but I feel like Nicky would be devastated if he found out this whole time they hadn't gone all the way yet LOL he missed his opportunity to bestow his wisdom 
> 
> I'm happy to be done with this fic, it's a really big accomplishment, but that being said I have lots of other wips so I'll be back soon I'm sure pft 
> 
> Thank you again, y'all are the best!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again for reading! All comments are always appreciated <3 I never get tired of writing for this series and I can't wait to post the next part! 
> 
> See you next week ;)


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